Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: Plagued by sinful dreams & mysterious, burning marks, and needing to appease a cranky deity so he won't unleash anarchy on newly restored Hogwarts, Hermione's forced to act on desires she didn't know she had. Fulfilling Set's demands makes her rethink her feelings for Harry ... AND Draco. But chaos gods aren't known for keeping their word. *ON TEMPORARY HIATUS*
1. A Pretty Ring

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own _Harry Potter_ & make no profit from this story.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

A Pretty Ring

"Don't worry, Mum, I'll get it," Hermione said, smiling as she knelt to put the spilt assortment of jewelry back into its fallen box.

After her awkward breakup with Ron, the Weasleys' decision to move to Romania to distance themselves from the emotional aftermath of the War, and Harry leaving for the summer to check on the Dursleys, she was so grateful to have her parents home—the alterations to their memories undone—that she'd have scrubbed all the floors in the house with a toothbrush, had they asked. Honestly, she knew Harry was trying to keep himself occupied so he wouldn't focus on Ron and Ginny's absence in their lives, but he _was_ also genuinely worried about his relatives after everything. How he could manage being such a good nephew when they were always so awful to him was beyond her.

As she scooped up the mass of glittering metal something stung her hand and she dropped it all, again. Hissing softly, she rubbed the pad of her thumb against her palm.

"Are you all right?" Her mother was to her side instantly, pulling Hermione's other hand away to check. Clearly even being the brightest witch of her age didn't stop her mum from fussing over her.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, gently prying her hand from her mother's grip. With an encouraging grin, she turned back to picking up the mess.

A single item had popped free of the tangle to sit alone on the floor. Hermione felt oddly as though the thing was actually _staring_ at her. Biting her lip, she kept her gaze on the gleaming band of gold and onyx as she blindly scooped the rest of the accessories back into the jewelry box.

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," Mum said softly, her voice light as she picked up the ring. When she turned it in her fingers, Hermione spied a small, blue stone set into the surface.

Brow furrowing, the girl tipped her head as she watched her mother examine the piece of jewelry. "I don't think I've seen that one before."

"That's because I never wore it." Smiling serenely, her mum set the ring on her palm. "I think I was always a little afraid to. This is a family heirloom, after a fashion, and I was always worried I'd lose it. Your granddad gave this to me. _His _father brought it back from Egypt when he was stationed there with the . . . oh I forgot what Division. Worthless piece of costume junk he got from a street merchant, but your granddad _loved_ it. Would have worn it, if he hadn't thought the wearing of rings too feminine."

Hermione settled her hands around her mother's. "Nothing is worthless when it belonged to someone important to you."

Meeting her gaze, her mother said, "Why don't you take it? All it's going to do here is collect dust in my jewelry box."

"Oh, Mum, I couldn't!"

"My practical-minded, _eighteen-year-old_ daughter just had to explain sentimental value to me. Go on, I think he would have liked you to have it."

Her mouth pulling to one side, Hermione tipped her head as she looked at it once more. The ring actually was quite pretty . . . and the design was unique. It might not be as _special_ as the trinkets her friends at Hogwarts inherited from their families, but it was important to her mum, and her granddad; that was enough.

"Okay." She held out her right hand, fingers splayed.

Measuring by sight, her mother took a guess and slipped the ring onto Hermione's middle finger.

A jumble of images flashed through Hermione's mind, like snapshots. The tunnels that ran everywhere beneath Hogwarts—known to everyone, now, the way all secrets at Hogwarts became known to everyone—Draco Malfoy, Harry, a dark-skinned stranger with eyes an oddly familiar shade of blue, and serpents. In a dizzy rush each picture zipped across her mind's eye, there and gone so fast, she couldn't be certain she actually saw any of it, at all.

"Perfect fit," Mum said, smiling.

Hermione gave herself a shake. Clearly only a split-second had passed, too short a time to see the things she _thought_ she had. Blinking, Hermione flexed her fingers as she eyed the ring. She couldn't feel anything from it . . . the metal rested against her skin, no unsettling vibe, no dark aura.

The ring was utterly lifeless, like any other Muggle-crafted item.

She breathed a sigh of relief, forcing a smile so that her mother might remain oblivious. Whatever she'd seen was a figment of her imagination. Her personal history with Horcruxes must've made her wary of antique jewelry pieces, costume junk or otherwise, she reasoned. She needed sleep—before long, it'd be time to board the train for her final year at Hogwarts and she didn't want to miss a single second of this last journey.

"You're right," Hermione said, shrugging off the bizarre tangle of mental images. "Perfect fit."

* * *

><p>Hermione started awake, realizing the Hogwarts Express was pulling into their destination. She shifted to stretch, but a weight pinned one shoulder. Turning to look, she saw Harry had nodded off as well and his head was tipped to rest against her. He had been worn out from putting up with his aunt and uncle—oddly, he'd told her that Dudley wasn't so bad, anymore.<p>

She'd simply not recognized that she was worn out, as well. Probably from putting off her packing until the last minute and then tackling the lot of it in a blind rush.

Giggling softly, she shrugged her shoulder, nudging him. "C'mon, Harry, we're arriving."

Harry lifted his head slowly, blinking drowsily at her. "Hmm? Oh, sorry."

She hadn't seen his green eyes this close in a long while. For a quick moment she was reminded of that jumbled flash of images from the other day. Hermione was jarred by the strange, stilted notice that her best friend had grown quite handsome over the years she'd known him.

His brow furrowed and he sat up fully, holding her gaze. "What's wrong?"

Blinking, she lowered her attention to her ring, twisting it on her finger as she spoke. "Nothing, just um . . . I know you weren't planning on coming back to Hogwarts. I know you're only here because of me, so I just wanted to say thank you."

"You're welcome." After a moment, she still didn't look up. Frowning, Harry leaned very close to her face. "And Hermione?"

Finally she lifted her gaze only to flinch, startled by his sudden nearness.

"Life's been hard enough for us, up until now." Breaking into a mischievous grin, he gently flicked her in the middle of her forehead.

She squeaked out a sound of surprise and shot back, rubbing her fingertips over the faintly stinging skin.

"Let's try not to be so serious this last year, okay?"

Forcing a smile, she nodded.

Try as she might, she couldn't push aside a strange new awareness of Harry's closeness throughout the evening. She was equally aware of the moment Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall and drifted past them to sit in a corner of the Slytherin table, by himself. Clearly unable to take a hint, his usual lackeys followed not far behind him.

She wasn't certain how she knew it would be him strolling by when she glanced over her shoulder, she simply_ did_. Yet, just as looking at Harry called to mind that jumbled mess of images, so too did gazing upon the Slytherin brat for the first time in the handful of months since the War.

Hermione tried not to look at Draco, but her eyes wandered to him, regardless. The moment she thought to glance away, he shivered visibly and turned his head, catching her gaze.

He made no expression, merely staring back at her for a long moment before forcing a gulp and returning his attention to a plate of food in which he didn't appear very interested. Pansy and Blaise sat across from him, carrying on some animated discussion while Goyle listened, chuckling as he stuffed his face. None of them appeared to notice Draco's wavering attention.

_Some friends_, she thought as she turned back to listen to more of Harry's plans to rebuild the Gryffindor Quidditch team and put the past as firmly behind all of them as possible. There was no way she would acknowledge that she actually felt a bit sorry for a Malfoy.

Later that night, Hermione tossed and turned for God only knew how long. She wasn't certain why she couldn't sleep, wasn't certain what she felt, being back at their beloved—magically reconstructed, so that no one could tell it was nearly turned into a giant pile of rubble—Wizarding school. Wasn't certain how she was really taking the Weasley clan's absence.

All she was certain of when she finally drifted off was a faint tingling of the skin beneath her ring—she never felt inclined to remove it when she slept—and another flash of those same images. The tunnels, Malfoy, Harry, the dark stranger, and serpents, oddly unlike the ones associated with Slytherin . . . . Not green and silver, _no,_ rich shades of gold and jet.

* * *

><p><em>She shifted, her eyelids lifting slowly. Yet only a heartbeat ticked by before she realized that the comfortable chair against which she reclined was <em>not_ a chair. Turning her head as she pulled herself with great effort to sit forward, she met the turquoise-shaded gaze of the dark-skinned stranger. From his posture, Hermione got the distinct impression that he was quite tall when standing. Glossy onyx hair fell to his shoulders and he had full, wide lips. His jaw was dusted with a perfect sprinkling of facial hair._

_Her brow furrowed, giving her a drowsy expression as she looked at him. He ran his long fingers over her forearms in light, tickling strokes and she tried to lean away from him, but found her body would not listen to her, anymore._

_"Am I dreaming?"_

_He smiled, sitting up with a lazy air so that his chest pressed to her back, again. "Of course you are." Bringing one arm around to cup a hand beneath her chin, he lowered that beautiful mouth to the side of her throat, his lips brushing her skin as he turned her head forward._

_Hermione gasped, but not from the feel of his teeth and tongue dragging against her, nor the sweet, but mostly unfamiliar sensation it sent washing through her. The chaise upon which they were seated faced a gilded mirror—the border carved with strange-looking animal figures and winged shapes—yet her reflection was not cradled by the reflection of the dark man with the pretty eyes, but by Draco Malfoy._

_"I don't understand," she whispered, even as her body sank back against the stranger's of its own volition. "Why is _he_ there?"_

_He chuckled ignoring her shock as his hands began to wander beneath her clothes. The hands of the pale-haired young man in the mirror mimicked his motions, exactly. "Because you desire him."_

_Forcing a gulp down her throat, she shook her head. Hermione couldn't seem to look away from the spectacle of Draco's hands moving under her clothes—one slipping down between her thighs, as the other slid up to cup her breast. The stranger's fingers moved against her, stroking and working these most sensitive bits of her and Hermione felt herself shudder beneath his touch. Every inch of her skin grew warm, tingly, and it took extraordinary effort to keep her thoughts from dulling._

_"I do _not _desire him."_

_Once more, he chuckled as he pulled her more tightly against him. "Oh, yes, you do. I have seen it; buried, yes, but there, all the same. I bid you take him."_

_She tried to ignore the faster stroking of his hand between her thighs and the sweet, rough pinches of his fingers teasing one hardened nipple. "Take him, I don't understand." _Tried_, but failed, a soft moan tearing from her throat._

_"I desire him, also; I have seen him through you. You will have him _for_ me." His warm breath brushed her skin as he spoke, making her shiver. "I will ask things of you, Nephthys. This is only the first."_

_"Nephthys?" Hermione struggled to pull away, despite how good this felt, despite that her reflection didn't put up any such objections to Draco's touch. "My name is—"_

_"I know what your name is, but _this_ is what I shall call you. And you _will_ do the things I ask of you." _He chuckled again, a darker and richer sound than before as he rocked his hips to press himself more tightly against her, letting her feel that he was hard._ "You _will _grant me moments of random, thoughtless action. Or I will—"_

* * *

><p>Hermione bolted up in bed. Gasping for breath, she wrenched the ring from her finger and slammed it down on the bedside table.<p>

She did not sleep the rest of the night, staring at the ring almost without blinking until the sun rose.

It didn't give off the faintest ripple of energy. No negative vibration, just as before. The dream _might_ be a figment of her imagination.

* * *

><p>"I wouldn't worry, Miss Granger, I've had everyone on staff take a look at it. Your ring is perfectly safe."<p>

Hermione nodded, scooping up the ring and tucking it away in her pocket. Of course, she'd not shared with Head Matron Professor McGonagall precisely why she wanted the ring examined, only citing her previous experiences with bewitched and dark-wizard-containing items as cause enough for concern.

Frowning, she turned to the one place which always comforted her.

* * *

><p>Harry found her in the library. Honestly—they'd been back a day and she was already so immersed in studies that she was about to miss dinner.<p>

"Nephthys," she muttered as he drew close to her table. "Finally, there you are! Wife-consort of Set. Set, god of storms, the desert, and . . . chaos." Hermione's voice was hollow as she said the last word. _Moments of random, thoughtless action._

The skin where she ring had been itched suddenly, feeling strangely empty. She nearly reached to take the damned thing from her pocket, but stopped herself. _Or I will _what_?_ She fretted, wondering what her poorly timed wakefulness had pulled her away from hearing. Whatever he'd intended to say _couldn't_ be good.

"C'mon, Hermione. Enough studying, time to eat."

"Hmm?" She looked up, startled. "Oh, right. Okay, Harry."

Harry closed the tome before her, picking it up before she could voice a protest. He turned away stepped toward the nearest bookcase, placing it in the nearest empty spot on the shelf.

As she pushed back her chair and stood, she felt a searing on the inside of her wrist. Biting her lip to keep from crying out in shock, she raised her arm and pulled down the cuff of her sleeve. There on her skin was a symbol, yet not just any symbol— a _hieroglyph. _She wasn't certain what it meant, only that it resembled one she'd seen beside Set's name in that book.

_Life's been hard enough for us, up until now . . . . Let's try not to be so serious this last year, okay? _Harry's words from yesterday rang in her ears, stopping her from showing him the mark, shutting down _any_ thought of telling him what she was really doing in the library just now.

The searing worsened and she stuffed her hand into her pocket as Harry turned back to her. She let him lead her from the library, struggling, one-handed in the confined space of her pocket to pull the ring back on.

As the metal slid into place against her skin, the searing stopped.

Stepping into the Great Hall, she was once more acutely aware of Harry beside her . . . and of Malfoy sitting at the Slytherin table. Elbows propped, once more, on either side of an untouched plate. the platinum-haired wizard stared glumly at nothing in particular.

_Random, thoughtless actions. Chaos_ . . . her mind whispered.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched into the room. She would find a way to figure out what was going on, and she would deal with it _without_ ruining an eighth year Harry was only taking because of her. But first, she would commit the simplest, least destructive act of chaos she could think of that might appease Set for at least a little while.

"Hermione? Where are you going?"

She only shook her head, continuing straight to the Slytherin table and pushing some fourth year out of her way to sit facing Draco. Blaise and Pansy stopped another of their ridiculous, prattling conversations and Goyle looked ready to choke on his mouthful of pumpkin-coloured mush in surprise. Draco turned slowly, fixing wide eyes on her.

"Merlin's beard, Granger, trying to give the lot of us heart attacks?"

Her expression determined, she decided to strike before he could object. Hands shooting forward, she cupped his face and pulled him close, pressing her lips to his.

He grasped her wrists, intent on pulling her hands away, but he froze, uncertain what to do. He'd not been prepared for _Hermione Granger _to kiss him . . . she'd probably been dared to do this. But he also wasn't prepared for the pressure of her mouth softening, or for her lips parting as she drew the breath from him, causing him to shudder in her grasp.

She lurched backward, as surprised as he by that very last sensation—by that faint, fluttering second of tingling warmth.

For a long moment they only stared at each other, painfully aware of the shocked silence of those around them.

"Granger, bloody hell!" Draco finally forced himself to say, plastering a scowl in place.

"I . . . I . . . ." She gave up trying to explain herself. Mirroring his expression, she made a hmphing sound and nodded sharply at him before standing from the table and storming off.

Draco met Harry's bewildered gaze, but he didn't know what to make of Hermione's insane action, either. Shrugging and shaking his head, Harry spun on a heel, taking off after his best friend as she darted out the doors.


	2. A Harmless Fib

**Chapter Two**

A Harmless Fib

"Hermione . . . Hermione!" Harry had trailed after her, calling her name repeatedly, all the way to the Gryffindor common room.

She sighed heavily, halting beside the sofa as her shoulders drooped. Though Hermione knew she could always have simply darted up the stairs and ducked into the girls' dormitory wing, she also knew that she couldn't avoid him forever. Running away from him right now would only prolong the inevitable . . . and possibly put a strain on their friendship.

Pivoting on a heel, she faced him, but couldn't bring herself to look at him. Her gaze traced the pattern of the carpet around his feet. "What?"

His green eyes shot wide behind the wire rims of his glasses. "You did not just _what_ me, Hermione! What the bloody hell was _that_ just now in the Great Hall?"

Shrugging, she fidgeted with her hands behind her back. "You said we should . . . lighten up this year and not be so serious."

Harry's face fell as he exploded. "Since when does 'not be so serious' translate to 'snog a former Death Eater in front of everyone'? What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," she said with a sigh, grateful for a moment of honesty, since the only thing she had to follow this up with was a lie.

"Then why—"

"I—I was dared to!" She forced out the words, afraid that if she didn't speak them powerfully enough, she'd sound weak and he'd know she wasn't being honest with him, but it was the most believable falsehood that came to mind. "You said to have fun this year, so I . . . I got involved in a game of silly dares. I didn't know I'd be told I had to kiss Malfoy, so I—I thought, just get it over with."

Harry's spine loosened and the set of his shoulders drooped. He hadn't realized his back had been painfully straight and rigid since the moment Hermione'd grabbed Malfoy's face. That his stomach had clenched and knotted unpleasantly when she'd kissed the pale-haired young man was another matter—one he didn't want to mull over, just now.

"Okay, all right. I just . . . ." His lips pulled into a line for a few heartbeats before he went on, "Who was it that dared you?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up as she fought, still, not to look at him. She couldn't—at least not until she was able to speak truthfully, again. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because everyone knows how much you and Malfoy hate each other. Seems kind of sick to me."

"Which is . . . probably exactly why they chose that dare for me," she concluded with a shrug. "And anyway, I can't tell you who dared me, it's a secret. All part of the game."

Harry only sighed, shaking his head as she met his gaze finally. "So that's it then?"

Nodding, she forced a smile. "That's it. Please . . . ." Hermione worked up her best pleading look, reaching out to grip a fist into his sleeve. "Please don't fuss about it, Harry."

Harry only frowned at her, unable to speak for a second. Rolling his eyes, he at last said, "Fine. Let's . . . go back down there and get something to eat. Tell everyone it was a joke, or something."

Her body sagged as she shook her head, folding her arms around herself. The idea that she'd just lied to Harry nauseated her. "You go, I—I don't think I can eat right now. Guess that turned my stomach a bit."

Without waiting for his response, she turned and darted toward the dormitory staircase.

He watched her go, speaking only when he was certain she was out of ear-shot. "Mine, too." Outside of the fact that it was Malfoy, he couldn't make heads or tails of what else about that scene had bothered him so.

He bit his lip in determination as he nodded. Daring her to kiss a boy she hated? That sounded . . . catty, definitely something one girl would do to another. The only question now was which girl might that be?

* * *

><p>Hermione dreaded sleep that night, afraid that she'd see Set, again. Afraid that he'd tell her more of what he expected of her, which would only make this most recent turn of insanity in her life more difficult to ignore.<p>

She tossed and turned all night, frequently mashing her cheek against her pillow as she sighed and huffed, uselessly. Surely this wasn't the end of it, Harry wasn't likely to forget this any time soon. Malfoy, himself, even less so.

Eventually she drifted off, but she couldn't recall what she'd dreamt when she awoke the next morning. She thought, if she concentrated, she could vaguely recall the tingling, delicious warmth of someone's bare skin pressed to hers and the tickling drag of fingertips along her body, over and over . . . all while she slept.

The impression felt innocuous enough, certainly, but there was a dreadful twisting in her gut . . . . The idea that the gentleness was some reward for committing a thoughtless act—as requested. And for making that thoughtless act an intimate, if extremely brief, physical encounter with Draco—_also_ as requested.

If there were rewards for pleasing Set, then . . . . A sense of unease stole over her as she reluctantly completed the thought.

If there were rewards for pleasing him, surely there would be consequences for disappointing him.

* * *

><p>"Who was it?"<p>

Startled by the high, tight pitch, Hermione looked up from her book. When she'd entered the library not five minutes ago, the entire place had been empty, but now Luna, Romilda, Hannah, Susan, the Patil twins and Pansy Parkinson—what on earth were any of them doing with Pansy—were crowded around the table.

Hermione blinked rapidly several times as she looked at each of them, in turn, before swallowing hard. "I'm . . . I'm sorry? Who was what?"

Pansy scowled, an eyebrow arched as she pulled out a chair and sat. Clearly, there was a Slytherin-only class on grumpy facial expressions. "Who dared you to kiss Draco?"

Unable to help herself, Hermione cracked a wicked half-grin. "Not jealous, are you, Pansy?"

Dark eyes rolling, the Slytherin girl waved a dismissive hand. "Please, we've been over for ages. We want to know, because—"

"Harry's been asking." Luna's soft, tinkling voice cut in. The blonde offered a gentle shrug. "He said he thought it was a girl and when none of us could tell him anything, he started getting a little . . . persistent about it."

Pansy once more rolled her eyes. "Persistent? He practically _accused_ each one of us of setting out to traumatize you."

Romilda winced, but remained silent.

Scoffing, Pansy thundered on. "What? Please! She helped kill Voldemort, remember? I'm pretty sure snogging Draco is _far _from the most trying thing that's ever happened to her."

"Well, you would know all about snogging Draco, wouldn't you?" Parvati said, smiling shyly.

Pansy smirked. "Well, yes. That would be my point now, wouldn't it?"

Hermione couldn't help a laugh as the other girls giggled. There was something oddly comforting in being surrounded by them, in just being one of the girls for the first time in . . . . Oh, she didn't even know how long. In fact, she wasn't even certain she'd _ever_ been just one of the girls.

She wasn't too keen on Pansy's presence, but then so much had changed after the War. Now, the Slytherin girl showed none of the anger or spitefulness she once had in her expression whenever she'd met Hermione's gaze.

After the laughter quieted—giving her the time she'd needed to cobble together a story—she drew a deep breath and finally started explaining. "It . . . it was _me_." When they all stayed quiet, when she looked around to see them all watching her as though she might be mad, she rushed on. "I dared myself. After everything that's happened, I thought maybe it would be a way to . . . let loose. Maybe start the year off a little . . . unexpectedly."

"Well, you certainly managed that," Padma said, grinning broadly.

Hermione shrugged. If this worked the way she hoped, maybe she'd buy herself more time with Set, give him just enough minor chaos to keep him sated until she could figure out what to do about him. "I'm always so . . . planned and ordered, and thoughtful. But we've been through so much that I wanted to do something different; be spontaneous. So I tried to think of things I would be least likely to do . . . then I walked into the Great Hall and saw Malfoy sitting there. First thought that popped in my head was—"

"That you'd never kiss Draco Malfoy," the twins said in giggly unison.

Waving her hand in a _there you go_ gesture, Hermione nodded. "That's why I couldn't tell Harry who dared me, 'cause he'd never have believed me." Biting her lip, in every attempt to appear as though she was only thinking of this now, she leaned closer to the group, her arms crossed and her elbows sliding against the polished wood of the table. "Why don't you all try it, too?"

"You want us all to kiss Malfoy?" Hannah's eyebrows shot up.

Pansy barked a laugh and Hermione's mouth gaped—all the while, she tried to tell herself her face didn't redden at the thought of the other girls feeling what she'd felt when she'd kissed Draco—but Pansy was the one who replied. "No, twit. She means we should all dare ourselves to do something we never would've before. Maybe, even . . . something we shouldn't, right?" She winked at the Gryffindor girl and bit her lip.

Hermione forced a nod, grinning, but a little surprised that Pansy was actually being so cool, and so . . . not-terrible. "Ex—exactly."

The group's gazes darted around to one another. They all laughed, their voices dropping to conspiratorial whispers as they talked about what they thought they might want to do. Hermione stayed quiet, letting herself be comforted by the sounds of chatting and laughter.

* * *

><p>Hermione frowned as her quill slipped from her bag and glided out between one of the gaps in the staircase's thick, granite railing to land somewhere on the floor below. Sighing and hanging her head, she hurried down the steps and rounded the end of the banister.<p>

At least this section of Hogwarts was quiet, right now—classes had just finished, and most students were headed back to their Houses, anyway—so she didn't have the embarrassment of anyone seeing her scurry to fetch her quill.

Her frown deepened as she looked around the floor for the writing implement, her movement bringing her closer to the darkened nook beneath the staircase. The space was far too dark to even make out the white edge of the feather.

"Damn it," she said in a hissing whisper, extracting her wand as she stepped into the darkness. "_Lumos."_

Her eyebrows shot up as she saw a pair of black wingtips on the floor. Following them upward to take in the figure in front of her, Hermione's heart thumped even before her gaze reached his face—she already knew who held her quill in a perfect, pale, long-fingered hand.

"Malfoy," she forced his name out from between clenched teeth. She'd been avoiding him all day and yet, the only way her quill could have found its way out of her bag and into his hand so easily . . . . "When did you spell my quill?"

"You've been so busy trying to look everywhere I'm _not_ when we have several classes together. Is it really so hard to believe you weren't paying attention for the two seconds it took me to do that?"

"Fine." Swallowing hard, she snatched the quill from him and stuffed it back in her bag. "_Why_ did you spell it?"

"To get your attention."

Sighing, Hermione set her bag on the floor. This could take a while. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Draco's dark brows shot up into his silvery-blonde bangs. "You're here talking to me after avoiding so much as looking at me the entire day."

"All right, fine!" She held up her free hand in a sign of surrender. "You have my attention. What do you want?"

"Pansy told me someone dared you to kiss me last night."

"Yes. So? What, you don't believe her?"

He frowned, scowling and shaking his head. "Oh, no. I believe that's what you told her. It's _you_ I don't believe."

"Why not?" Hermione was so jarred that Malfoy was the only one to call her on her lie that she couldn't be anything but shocked.

"Because this is you," he said with a sneer, as he gave her a once-over. "I'd first thought it _had _to be a dare, myself, you know. But then I started _actually_ thinking that over. If someone told _you_ to do something you didn't want to—even in a dare—you wouldn't do it. So I'll ask this _one_ time. What in Merlin's name was that about last night?"

She stared at him wide-eyed, before forcing another gulp down her throat. "I . . . I can't say."

Draco frowned, finding her sudden, skittish response unlike her . . . at least when she was around him. Granger was usually loud and angry and snarling when butting heads with him over anything. "Merlin's Beard, someone's doing something to you."

Her already widened chestnut eyes flashed wider, still, as she held his gaze. "No, no. No one's doing . . . anything to me."

Shoulders slumping, he opened his mouth to respond, but stopped. Certainly, he—of _all _people—knew the face of someone being pressured, but what should he care? "You know what? Never mind. None of my concern."

Collecting herself, she nodded. If this had been anyone she'd trusted, she might've slipped just now and blurted out exactly what was going on.

As she turned to step from the nook, someone quite large bustled past, unaware of knocking her backward. She stumbled over her bag, bumping into Draco in the cramped space. The light of her wand's point went out as it fell from her fingers.

"Professor McGonagall!" Slughorn called, his voice thick with concern in a way Hermione wasn't certain she'd heard before.

"Granger, mo—"

"Shh," she whispered over her shoulder, too focused on whatever might be happening in the corridor to think about how she was pressed against him. "This might be important."

She craned her neck, peering into the lighted passage before them. The Head Matron's face was puckered in a worried expression.

"What is it Horace? I'm terribly busy at the moment."

"Someone got into the potions room between classes and switched all the labels around! That could be dangerous!"

McGonagall's eyes widened, her brows drawing downward. "Someone . . . . I don't understand, who would—?"

"Minerva!" Flitwick hurried along the corridor, staring up in panic. "Sybill's been taken to the hospital wing!"

"What!"

"She, um . . . ." The little man looked uncomfortable, suddenly. "She seems to have burned her . . . her bum."

Draco chuckled under his breath. The sound was low, but he was so close that it was right in Hermione's ear, making the stifled laugh seem louder to her. Spinning around, she reached up to blindly clamp a hand over his mouth.

"How did that—"

"She said she thinks one of the students used a flame charm to . . . ignite her knickers."

Hermione bit hard into her lip to keep from snickering. Feeling Draco's wavering breath against her hand wasn't helping, in the slightest.

"What is _happening_?" McGonagall's voice was shrill in a mix of anger and bewilderment. "I'll . . . be right there. Horace, do whatever you need to sort out the potions."

Hermione didn't budge until they were gone. She slipped her hand from Draco's mouth and he burst out laughing.

Once more she had to bite her lip before speaking, afraid she'd laugh, too. "This isn't funny! Professor Trelawney could be hurt."

"A teacher's knickers being set ablaze is always funny."

She couldn't help herself from spurting a giggle. "All right, it's a little funny." She couldn't explain that whatever confusion was going on was her fault, that if Professor Trelawney was injured, then she was really the one to blame for setting things in motion.

In the space of a single, thudding heartbeat, she realized that was the flaw in her plan. She was at fault for anyone who might be harmed by these self-given-dares.

He felt her tremble against him and lifted his hands—instinctively, before he even knew he'd moved—to grasp her shoulders. "Granger? What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" She forced out the word.

Hermione inhaled deeply and froze. She was acutely aware of the rise and fall of his chest—of the feel of his body pressing just a bit tighter to her breasts every few heart beats—of his breath, sweeping warm over her cheek.

She shuddered in his hold and neither spoke for a moment.

"What's going on here?" Draco said, his voice soft, tone mystified.

"I . . . ." Her brow furrowed as she tried to ignore the giddy fluttering in the pit of her stomach and the heat flooding her cheeks. "I don't know. Malfoy, please, just let me—"

"You still going to tell me someone dared you last night?"

Even in the pitch darkness, she could tell he'd leaned down just a little, just enough to bring his face a little closer to hers. "Y—yes, yes. Because that's . . . what happened." Her breath trembled and her words shook.

"Well, then, Granger . . . I dare you to do it again."

Hermione felt the brush of air on her lips as he exhaled . . . all she had to do was rise up on her toes and close the distance, yet she was scared. Not because she didn't want to, but because she _did_.

"Um, I'm—I'm sorry, what?" The moment she said the words, she_ knew_ that he was aware she was deliberately playing dumb.

She started a little at the immediate sensation of Draco's mouth moving ever so lightly against hers as he whispered, "Kiss me, again. I _dare_ you."


	3. A Little Secret

**Chapter Three**

A Little Secret

A frown graced Harry's lips he looked up from the book in his lap to dart his gaze about the common room. Classes had been over for a bit now, yet there was no sign of Hermione.

His frown deepened as he flashed back to finding her stuck in the library. Likely that's exactly where he'd find her again. As he stood, setting down the book, another thought struck him.

The image of Hermione kissing Malfoy crossed his mind, deepening his frown further, still, into a truly unhappy and frightening visage. This notion of someone thinking it funny to put her up to that turned his stomach. And the moment, itself, made him . . . .

Harry held in a sound that he knew would have been strangely close to a growl as he shook his head and strode to the common room door.

* * *

><p>Chuckling in utter amusement and a strangely prideful sense of approval, Peeves watched the twins scurrying about the dais of the Great Hall.<p>

Parvati paced the edge, keeping look out as Padma went to each of the professors' seats. She held one hand over her face, careful not to touch or inhale the mixture as she coated the armrests of the teachers' chairs with jinxed color powder.

She bit her lip, trying not to giggle at the mental image of Professor Flitwick having pretty, pastel-blue skin for the next week.

* * *

><p>Blaise opened the door to his dorm and stepped in before looking up.<p>

There, sprawled on his bed was Pansy. The dark-haired witch had her uniform robes draped across her in a way that suggest she wore nothing beneath.

He swallowed hard, his jaw going slack.

She arched a brow, smirking at him. "Are you just going to stand there staring, or are you going to close that door and come see if I've _actually _got nothing on under these robes?"

Reaching back blindly, he swung the door shut and tapped the knob with his wand, spelling it to stay sealed.

* * *

><p>Hermione's thought fled her and she found herself leaning into Draco.<p>

He didn't know if he was more shocked or pleased at the feel of her mouth pressing to his. Before he could act, she tilted her head a little further, the tip of her tongue darting out to trace his lips. He parted them, sighing into her as he had last night.

She shivered at the strange, tingly warmth that shared breath sent washing through her and she pulled back, unaware of quite when she'd gripped her fingers into his shirtfront. In the darkness, she could only gaze at where she estimated his eyes to be.

"We . . . we can't do this," she said in a whisper.

She didn't really hear his responding chuckle, so much as she felt the rumbling in his chest. "We?" He echoed, his voice tinged with amusement. "I'm not the one clinging to you, Granger."

He moved sooner than she could bashfully pull away, his hands sliding down her sides to settle over her hips and then circling her to hold her against him. Lowering his head once more, he gauged where her mouth was from the feel of her trembling breath against his skin.

Draco mimicked her action from a moment ago, running the tip of his tongue along her lips.

She was acutely aware of his mouth hovering over hers, of his breath, of the heat of his body pressed to hers. Their hampered sight seemed to heighten the sense of touch, making her mindful of every inch of him against her, of every point of physical contact between them.

"Well, Granger," he murmured, his lips brushing over hers. "Dare's over. What _are_ you going to do, now?"

Another trembling breath rushed out of her, tickling his skin, and then she opened her mouth, inviting him.

He slid a splayed hand up into her hair, cupping the back of her head. His tongue thrust between her lips to caress hers, tasting and teasing.

Hermione felt an inexplicable urge, relinquishing her grip on his shirt to run her fingers along his body through his uniform. She wanted to know what he felt like. Just this once, just for this moment. After all, this _couldn't _happen again.

. . . Could it?

He groaned, his kiss turning hungrier and more demanding, but didn't stop her as she tugged roughly at his clothes, pulling his shirt from his trousers. Her hands slipped beneath and he trembled just a little under her curious fingers.

She traced along the lines and dips of his abdomen and upward, over his chest. The edges of her nails scratched against his nipples and his fingers clenched, tightening his grip on her in response.

A sweet, pulsing warmth thudded low in her body and she followed an instinct, pushing her hips forward. She broke the kiss, nudging his chin up to bring her lips to the side of his throat.

He let out a low, rumbling sound, shifting his pelvis to press back. The hand at her back slipped down, cupping her bottom and pulling her tighter to him.

_I bid you take him_.

Set's words echoed through her mind as she focused on the feel of Draco moving against her. She realized with a shock, as terrifying to her as it was utterly delicious, that she'd made him hard.

Gasping, she gave a start, pulling back in his embrace. "Oh,_ oh_, God! I'm—I'm sorry!"

"You're going to stop there? You must be joking," he said with a low chuckle.

He loosened his hold, but didn't actually release her, interested to see what she would do with the illusion of escape.

"I said I was sorry, didn't I?" Hermione wasn't clear why, but tears clogged her throat for the barest second—she didn't feel them, instead she heard them in the sound of her own voice. "I don't know what I'm doing, okay?"

She turned and took a step, his hands slipping a bit to settle over her hips, once more. But he held on, keeping her in the darkness beneath the staircase.

He realized what that catch in her throat was. That was a sound of uncertainty. "You really _don't_ know, do you?"

Hermione was silent, forcing a gulp down her throat. His fingers tugged her back and she allowed it, backpedaling until he held her against him.

"You honestly have_ no_ idea what you're missing, do you?"

She placed her hands on his forearms as she shook her head, aware that he could feel the motion of her responding gesture.

He dropped a hand to trace the tips of his fingers up her thigh, inching up the hem of her skirt. "I could _show_ you."

"What makes you think I'd want you to?" Her head rolled back against his chest and she made no move to stop him, despite her contradictory words.

He lowered his mouth, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "Because you're still here. It's hardly as though I've got you in an iron grip, now is it?"

His fingers continued upward, slipping between her legs to press teasingly against her through her knickers.

A tiny moan sounded in the back of her throat. She squirmed in his arms, gasping as the motion caused her to rub herself against his stroking fingertips.

"I could stop now, then we'd be even, but you still really wouldn't understand" he said, dropping his head to skim his lips along the pulse in her throat.

"_Are _you going to stop?"

He slipped the arm of the hand on her hip tight around her waist and lifted her against him, forcing her to stand on her toes. "I think the real question is," his other hand slipped into the elastic of her knickers, the tip of his fingers seeking the warm, damp little bundle of nerves there. "Do you _want_ me to stop?"

A startled gasp tore out of her as he stroked her. "Oh, God, _no_," she said, without thinking.

Draco chuckled, nibbling at her earlobe as his fingers worked between her thighs. He was being gentle, he knew, wondering what her reaction would be if he stopped being so considerate of her inexperience.

Hermione shuddered as his fingertips moved against her harder, rubbing over her in fast, rough circles. Her muscles started to tense, causing her to tremble.

"It's okay, Granger, I've got you," he murmured, stroking her faster, still, trying to force her over the edge. "Go ahead; just let your body keep tensing 'til you reach it."

Hermione followed his instruction, practically pressing him into the wall behind them as she pushed herself. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as the orgasm crashed over her. Her fingers clawed at the arms around her and she arched her back, tilting her pelvis upward, against his hand and the stroking of his fingers.

He held her tighter, surprised that as it ebbed, she started moving, rocking under his ministrations. More surprising, she seemed to have forgotten her earlier coy act, slipping a hand over his to press his fingers more tightly against her.

When the last sweet, rippling shock left her, Hermione sagged back, catching her breath.

Draco allowed her a few moments. As she recovered, he straightened her knickers and settled her skirt back into place.

When he dropped his hands from her and she found herself standing on her own, she blinked rapidly a few times. Only now did she realize that she wasn't certain what she expected.

He understood her lack of response. "You can go ahead and make that huffy, dramatic exit, now. I said I was going to show you what you were missing."

"And . . . now, I know," she whispered, her voice shaky.

"And now you know."

She bent blindly in the dark to retrieve her wand and bag. Despite the darkness, she turned back to face him. "Is . . . is this going to happen again?" She knew _Set _would want more, eventually, but she didn't really care what Set wanted right now.

"You tell me."

Hermione bit her lip as she thought. This had felt good—really, _really_, good—but she wasn't sure how she felt about doing these sorts of things with Draco Malfoy. "I don't know," she said, opting for honesty.

"Then we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

Though she was aware he couldn't see it, she nodded, shielding her eyes preemptively as she at last turned and stepped out from beneath the stairwell.

* * *

><p>Harry stopped short as he saw Hermione appear from a darkened nook under one of the staircases down the corridor. He held up a hand, prepared to shout and get her attention.<p>

But then, as she turned a corner and vanished down another hallway, he saw someone else emerge from the darkened space.

Draco Malfoy.

Harry's heart thumped against his ribcage and his skin grew hot. What the bloody hell . . . ? His welling anger grew into something darker as he watched Draco tucking his shirt into his trousers.

Hadn't Hermione's cheeks been flushed when he'd seen her just now?

He bit so hard into his bottom lip he was surprised he didn't draw blood as his hands clenched into trembling fists.

* * *

><p>Hermione heard Harry calling her in the empty corridor. A thrill of fear wound through her and she forced a deep, calm breath before she turned to face him.<p>

"Harry!" She completely forgot whatever else she was about to say as she watched him draw closer—as she saw the furious look twisting his features.

"Harry, what—?"

"Don't 'Harry, what' me, Hermione! Not again," he said, seething, his voice a low, angry hiss. "First last night's mess in the Great Hall and now _this_?"

That she only blinked at him in bewilderment made him even more irate.

"I just saw you and _Malfoy_!"

Hermione's face fell instantly, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh, God, Harry! It's not what it looked like, I promise you!"

"Oh, then what were you doing? Checking him for ticks?"

"No, but . . . ." Honestly, what could she say? For the briefest moment, she imagined telling him everything. And she knew he'd leap in to try and untangle her from this _thing_ haunting her, yet . . . hadn't Harry already done so much for everyone?

She gave up, honestly at a loss for words.

"Hermione, did he _do_ something to you?" His voice rose and spots of red dotted his cheeks.

Well, now he was just giving himself reasons to get angry. "No, Harry, it's wasn't anything like that." _Not exactly_, she thought, though even her inner voice sounded deceitful to her.

"But you can't tell me what it _is_ like?"

God, she wanted to . . . if only she could make him understand without actually getting him involved. Yet as a few seconds ago, no such thing came to mind.

"No," she said simply.

"Okay, Hermione, just tell me one thing."

His tone had calmed, but she wasn't certain that was a comfort. "What?"

"Are you shagging Draco Malfoy?"

Her eyes widened, a furious blush coloring her cheeks. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry! No, okay! I've never . . . ." She glanced about, stepping closer despite that the corridor was deserted. "I've never shagged _anyone_."

Hermione's confession took the steam out of Harry's tantrum instantly. His shoulders slumped and his own eyes grew wide as he held her gaze. "What, really?"

"Yes, really! Why are you so shocked?"

"I dunno, I thought you and Ron—"

"No, Harry, okay! And I can't believe you're making such a fuss about it, either!"

He schooled his features, stuffing his fists into the pockets of his trousers. "I'm _not _making a fuss, I just didn't know."

"Wait a minute," she said, blushing again, but now for a different reason. "Does that mean you and Ginny . . . ?"

Harry's gaze darted from hers as he tried to understand how the conversation got turned around. "Well, if you must know, yes. Okay? But that still doesn't explain what you were doing with Malfoy!"

"He was asking me the same thing you did last night." She shook her head, deciding that perhaps a partial truth would feel less weighty than a flat-out lie. "But I avoided him all day, so he . . . spelled my quill to lead me somewhere that I _couldn't _avoid him."

"Then why did he come out of there tucking in his shirt?"

"How the bloody hell should I know? I've no idea what he gets up to."

Harry gave a half-pout as he considered her words. Finally, he slung an arm around her shoulders. "C'mon, let's get you back to Gryffindor tower before some other Slytherin sneaks up and absconds with you."

Hermione giggled, both relieved and troubled by . . . everything that had just transpired.

* * *

><p>The door popped open just as Draco reached for the knob. He arched a brow, snatching his hand back.<p>

It swung open and Pansy stepped out.

"Oh," she smiled sweetly, her cheeks flushed and her hair mussed. "Hullo, Draco."

He only nodded, his brow furrowing as she stepped around him and started down the corridor at a brisk walk. Poking his head into the room, he saw Blaise buttoning up his shirt.

"You and Pansy?"

Blaise's eyebrows shot up, a smile curving his lips as he shrugged. "Couldn't even tell you. I came in and she was on my bed."

Draco only nodded, mystified. "Okay, then."

Granger and him just now, Blaise and Pansy—thank Merlin he'd been preoccupied elsewhere—this business with Professor Trelawney's knickers and the potions labels.

What the bloody hell was happening at Hogwarts?

* * *

><p>Set grinned, watching the green-eyed young man through the mirror. So, his new Nephthys fancied him, as well? Of course, she simply didn't know it, yet. As with the pale-haired one. She was so adorably repressed, wasn't she?<p>

He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, the grin becoming a truly wicked expression as he stepped closer, tracing the tips of his fingers over this . . . _Harry's_ features in the glass. Her thoughts showed him as a powerful one, indeed.

Power in his own right, Nephthys _and_ the pale-haired one at his side?

"Oh, yes," Set whispered, eager for sleep to overtake the girl, again. "He_ is _perfect, isn't he?"


	4. A Moment's Truth

**Chapter Four**

A Moment's Truth

Hermione couldn't sleep. Though, she could feel something tugging at her, trying to force sleep to wash over her. She ignored that she was pretty certain what—or, more precisely, who—that _something_ was.

She couldn't eat at dinner, Harry watched her the entire time. He didn't say anything in particular, no, but she felt the weight of his gaze on her.

He was worried about her, she knew that. She could feel that he knew something was wrong, even if he wouldn't let himself acknowledge it.

But then the meal was interrupted by a student seated toward the dais shrieking with laughter. As more heads came up to see what caused the commotion, more laughter broke out, until the sound echoed through the Great Hall and filling the massive room.

Hermione couldn't help but notice the way the Patil twins ducked their heads when she, too, looked toward the source of such hilarity. Upon the dais, in their gilded chairs, the faculty of Hogwarts resembled human-shaped Easter eggs.

Eyes widening, she forced a gulp despite that she couldn't stop a giggle of her own from bubbling up.

Professor McGonagall's displeased, confused face was a delightful bright, but pale purple. She'd paused the meal to announce that after today's rash of incidents, anyone caught playing pranks would face disciplinary action.

Clearly the Head Matron thought she'd made herself clear. Hermione, however, was near-positive the student body had placed emphasis on the word _caught_.

And really, after living through the Second Wizarding War, she had to wonder how on earth the elder witch thought detention would frighten any of them.

There'd been a moment, though. A single, heart-trembling moment when, in the midst of raucous laughter and angry, pastel-skinned teachers, Hermione had met Draco Malfoy's gaze.

The grin he wore faded slowly, as did hers. He merely stared at her. From the corner of her eye, she could see the rise of his chest as he inhaled. In a flash, Hermione recalled being in that nook beneath the staircase with him.

The sudden, sharp memory of trailing lips and teasing fingers chased along her skin anew. Reminding herself to breathe, she tore her gaze from Malfoy's, pretending that pushing her untouched food around her plate with her fork was the most interesting and absorbing activity in the world.

Now, as she lay tossing and turning, she couldn't put what had happened out of her mind. Not the Malfoy-thing, God, no. Though . . . that memory was difficult enough to keep at bay, often resulting in blushing and squirming beneath her quilt. It was this thing with Harry; his blatant worry that he seemed to think he was so spectacularly keeping under wraps.

It dawned on her, then. He probably didn't realize his concern, himself.

Teeth sinking into her bottom lip, she kicked aside her quilt and climbed out of bed. Perhaps she should consider it a blessing that the _eighth years_ in Gryffindor were few enough that they had their own quarters, thus she didn't have to worry about her middle of the night barging about waking anyone, unintended.

* * *

><p>Set felt her rise from her bed. Frowning, he closed his eyes, connecting himself to her.<p>

She was walking, her stride quite determined, actually.

A frown graced his lips—he should have known there was a . . . hiccup when she pushed away her need for rest so forcefully.

But then an image of the green-eyed wizard played across her mind as she moved. She was going to see him?

Alone, in the dark of night?

A wicked grin curved Set's mouth. Yes, this could work, he simply had to mind what she chose to share with him.

* * *

><p>"Harry," a familiar voice whispered, close to his ear.<p>

He muttered something, smacking his lips together as he turned over in the bed and buried his face into his pillow.

Brow furrowing, Hermione held in a laugh. Sighing, she climbed onto the bed to sit on her knees beside him.

"Harry," she said again. When he didn't stir, she placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. "Harry!"

He gave such a start that he nearly knocked her to the floor. On instinct, he grabbed her arm, pulling her back from the edge as he bolted upright in bed.

"Hermione?" His voice was tinged with confusion as he relinquished his hold on her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She frowned at the way he blinked at her, knowing his vision was awful. Snatching up his glasses from the nightstand, she pushed them onto this face.

"Better?"

He nodded. "Yeah, thanks. That totally detracts from you being here."

"Sorry, I didn't really want to wake you," she said, biting her lip. Dear lord, deciding how to tell him was proving difficult.

Harry misinterpreted her silence. "So you just walked into my room and nearly shook the life out of me by accident?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that." Her mouth pulled to one side as she scowled at him. "And I was gentle about it, thank you very much!"

He sighed, scooting over to make room for her to settle beside him.

Her expression suddenly serious, she shook her head at the gesture. "I need to talk to you. I have to tell you something."

For the briefest moment the thought to tell him about Set flickered across her mind. Instantly the mark on her wrist seared and those strange blue eyes flashed before her.

She swallowed hard, dropping her gaze from Harry's as she put her arm behind her back, afraid to look at the mark. So tiny, barely noticeable unless one knew it was there, yet Hermione knew if she drew attention by examining it now, there would be no way for her to shield it from Harry's awareness.

"Hermione, what is it?"

The worry in his voice gnawed at her. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze as she forced the words, "I . . . I lied to you before!"

Harry frowned, sparing a moment to rub his eyes and then set his glasses straight, again. "Is this about the shagging thing?"

Her shoulders slumped and she groaned, hanging her head. "No, Harry! I swear, is it a male-thing that after a certain age _everything_ is about shagging?"

He flitted his gaze about the room, confused. "It actually might be."

She giggled, a soft, quick sound before she remembered herself. Immediately she school her features, balling her hands into fists as she forced the words, "I meant about Malfoy!"

Harry, for his part, looked like as though his heart had leapt into his throat. "Wait, wait . . . what do you mean you lied about Malfoy? Tell me you're not honestly sh—"

"Oh for heaven's sake, Harry! I already told you I've _never_, okay! No, I mean . . . ." Hermione took a deep breath, and then launched into an explanation so rushed it sounded like one, long word with a_ lot_ of syllables. "No, I told you the truth on that, I really, really did. And I was honest about Malfoy spelling my quill to lure me off, 'cause I'd been avoiding him all day and he demanded to know why I kissed him. Then, I'm not entirely sure how, but that lead to another kiss, and then _more _kissing, and some touching. But, but that's it, that's what happened and that's all, I swear! I just didn't tell you before, because I couldn't, I was afraid of how you'd look at me."

Harry blinked a few times, watching Hermione catch her breath. She really couldn't keep a secret from him. Over some kissing, she felt so guilty that she blurted it out to him after only a few hours? But then, that honest heart was one of the things he'd always treasured about her.

"So," he said, his tone cautious, "you . . . snogged Malfoy?"

"_And_ there was some touching," she reminded, her voice was edged with tears though she didn't know why. But then maybe she did; she didn't feel guilty over what had happened with Malfoy. She _wanted_ to feel guilty and was saddened that she didn't. How odd.

"Oh, right, snogged him and touched him." For a split-second, Harry felt acutely uncomfortable, recalling the dreadful image of Draco Malfoy appearing from that darkened nook as he tucked his shirt into his trousers. "You don't mean you touched his—"

"Harry, please! No, of course not!" Hermione made herself meet his gaze, despite the furious blush in her cheeks. "And he didn't force anything, either. It was just . . . I didn't know what I was doing, so things got a little carried away, but it didn't get any further than what I just told you."

He heaved a weighted sigh. "So that's it, then?"

She nodded, her brown eyes enormous and glimmering in the moonlight streaming through the windows. The sound of a laugh rumbling out of him startled her.

"You're not angry with me?"

"Oh, no, I am." He shook his head, "Because . . . you've never . . . yet, somehow you and Malfoy—of all people, Draco Malfoy—end up . . . and it's just . . . ."

Hermione didn't know who was more confused by his current inability to finish a sentence, Harry or her.

Harry's expression flickered, anger flaring in his eyes as he suddenly blurted, "You're all bashful about this mess, and that's really adorable, especially since it sounds like it's not the big of a deal and yet I'm furious. Because it was with Malfoy! How could you do that with_ him _when I'm _right_ here?"

She felt her breath leave her in a rattling huff.

Harry's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed as he held her gaze. "I didn't mean to say that," he whispered simply.

She recoiled a bit, searching his face. "I didn't know you saw me that way."

Again, he shook his head, a mystified frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Neither did I."

There was a moment of complete silence between them that seemed to emphasize their nearness.

She didn't know what to think, or how to feel about this revelation.

"Do you see me that way?"

Harry's question caught her off-guard. Though she realized this was a logical follow-up to his own admission. She smirked, lowering her head to drop her gaze into her lap as she recalled a few times when she'd wondered.

"I don't know that I ever _didn't,_ really. I just never thought about it."

Another patch of silence enveloped the room.

"Okay. Well, um, I guess I should go now, right?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice so low she barely heard him.

"I mean . . . ." She finally lifted her gaze to meet his, shrugging. "I already told you what I came to tell you, so . . . ."

He nodded. "Of course."

She didn't know who moved first, but suddenly she was in his arms, straddling his lap as he thrust his tongue between her lips. Her fingers latched around the back of his neck as his hands slipped low, cupping her bottom to pull her against him.

Hermione broke the kiss, withdrawing only enough to look into his eyes. "Wait, wait! What are we doing?"

His brow furrowed behind the wire-rims of his glasses. "Seriously?"

"I was telling the truth before. I've never—"

His laugh cut her off. "_Now_ who's the one making everything about shagging? We don't have to go that far. We don't even have to get close to it."

Her bewildered expression only made him laugh harder.

"You really _were_ telling the truth."

She couldn't help that her gaze kept falling to his mouth each time he spoke. "Then what are we doing?"

Harry shrugged. "Exactly what we always do at Hogwarts, Hermione."

Her eyebrows shot up in question.

"_Exploring_," he said with an inviting half-smile.

Hermione nodded, warmth flooding her cheeks as she let Harry nudge her head back to bring his lips to her throat.

His hands circled forward, moving up to cup her breasts through her cotton of her nightshirt. God, she was so sensitive that even though they'd barely started, her nipples were hard. He couldn't help smirking wickedly as he dropped his head, biting teasingly at her through the fabric.

She gasped, her fingers sinking into his hair and gripping, holding his head against her. She shuddered as he slid a hand downward, between their bodies to press between her thighs.

"That feels _really_ good," she said, her whispered words timid.

She was shy about it, but still able to tell him what she liked. That was good. And the spot against which he rubbed his fingers was warm. _So warm_, he thought, feeling a bit greedy suddenly. The way she trembled and moaned beneath his touch, when he'd hardly done anything, didn't help.

She was so innocent, though, he knew he had to do this slowly, and gently. Which meant not so much fun for himself, but he could still enjoy giving her reason to sneak into his room, again.

He lifted his mouth from her throat, speaking so that his lips brushed her ear as he formed the words. "Hermione, lie back."

Pulling away to look at him, she blinked drowsy eyes at him. "Hmm? Why?"

* * *

><p>Set chuckled. Oh, he liked this young wizard, indeed!<p>

* * *

><p>Harry caught her bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling at the soft skin for a drawn out moment before speaking. "Trust me. Would you feel better if I promised you don't have to take off anything?"<p>

Forcing a gulp—she hated that she knew so little, but her trust in Harry calmed her anxiety a bit—she nodded.

"You don't have to take off anything," he repeated. "Now just lie back."

Shifting off his lap, she did as he told her. A moment passed during which they only stared at one another again, causing her to think that he was about to change his mind and tell her to leave.

But then he moved, crawling over her. He leaned down, kissing her hard and then drifted lower, dragging his lips over her jaw and down her throat.

She couldn't help a giggle as he continued along her body, nipping playfully at her through her nightshirt.

He lowered himself, balancing his weight on his forearms as he brushed his lips over the bared bit of skin between the nightshirt and the matched cotton bottoms.

Once more she giggled, sinking her fingers into his hair. A thrill ran through her as he parted her legs and settled between them. She snapped her head up, a bit fearful as she looked to see what he was doing.

He knew what her reaction would be and so he paused, waiting until she met his gaze. The moment they made eye contact he lowered his face, burying his mouth between her thighs.

Hermione bit hard into her lip to keep from crying out at the feel of his lips and teeth working against her through the warm, damp fabric.

He watched her face; watched, pleased with himself as her head fell back. Her hands slipped from him to clutch at the covers beneath them. Her hips jerked beneath his ministrations, quick, erratic motions and he thought of a better use for her hands.

Well, at the very least, it might cause her to blush some more, which he was starting to find rather becoming. He nuzzled his face against her before pulling back again to focus on that singular, most sensitive spot.

Hermione distantly felt him take her hands in his and guide them. She was surprised to find that their destination was her breasts. She wanted to pull them away, suddenly shy, but he clumsily, blindly shaped his fingers over hers to knead the rounded flesh.

If she pretended she wasn't enjoying it, she'd be lying to Harry _and_ herself.

He felt her begin to tremble beneath him, her body tensing. Making a sound that might've been a growl, he sighed against the damp, warm fabric before working his jaw against her more sharply.

She cried out, her back arching, pushing herself more firmly to his mouth as she came. He nuzzled and nipped, scraping his teeth against her, sending sweet little sparks rippling through her.

Realizing she'd been too loud, she bit her lip again, holding in her moans. She forced her pelvis to rock against his mouth the second the orgasm had ebbed enough that she could move.

He guided her through it, working harder and faster. Gradually he slowed, but kept on until her muscles gave out and she all but collapsed beneath him.

The room was silent for a long while afterward. He settled his chin against her thigh, staring up at her as she caught her breath.

Finally she raised her head, meeting his gaze. For another moment—painfully long and quiet—she didn't react. But then she cracked a slip of a smile. Before she knew it, she was laughing and so was he.

"Problem," she said softly, once she was certain she could speak without her voice trembling.

"Hmm?" Harry made the sound as he crawled back up the bed.

"I'm not sure I can move, now."

Harry chuckled at her.

"I'm serious, I'm _exhausted_," she murmured, fighting to keep her eyes open.

"Yes, between Malfoy and me I'm sure you've had a_ terribly_ long day. You poor thing."

She gave a tired giggle. "Don't be snarky."

"Sleep here."

She frowned, voicing a protest despite that she was already moving, albeit sluggishly, to join him under the covers. "We could get in trouble, Harry!"

"Please, Hermione. This is _us_, I'm sure there's probably loads of people expecting to find us like this, eventually."

As she fell asleep, curled up against her best friend, and her head pillowed on his crooked arm, she could only nod in agreement. They probably did.

Strange, disconnected images played through her mind as she slept. Draco and Set, Set and Harry . . . . Harry and Draco? Quick flashes, nothing to which she could apply context. A confusing whirl of images that left her feeling as though she was missing something right in front of her.

* * *

><p>Hermione awoke to the sound of someone gruffly clearing their throat. Blinking her bleary eyes open, she nearly jumped out of her skin.<p>

"Harry," she whispered, elbowing him.

"Hmm? What, Hermione?" He groaned, still sleepy as lifted his head from behind hers to follow her gaze.

An angry, still lilac-faced Professor McGonagall stared down at them, her fists propped on her hips. "You two, my office. Now!"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Harry, her expression worried

He couldn't help meeting her look of concern with a sheepish grin.


	5. A Veiled Understanding

**Chapter Five**

A Veiled Understanding

"What were you thinking?"

Hermione winced as she and Harry stood before the Head Matron's desk. They were still in their nightclothes—she hadn't even allowed them to dress—sleep-rumbled, but wide-eyed, on account of their abrupt and unpleasant wake-up call.

Though for the first time in her life at Hogwarts, the girl felt a bizarre lack of intimidation in the face of her favorite professor's wrath. She imagined that was likely because fear was a difficult thing to muster when she was so very busy puzzling over precisely which shade of purple she should use to best describe the teacher's pretty, if temporary, new skin color.

As Miss Granger offered her no response, Professor McGonagall turned her pinpoint glare on Harry. "Well, Mr. Potter?"

Harry balked, blinking rapidly a few times. "Why are you asking me? I woke up and there she was in my bed. I was just as surprised as you, professor!" _The first time,_ he thought, barely managing to keep a straight face.

"Fine." She returned her attention to Hermione, a forced, utterly mirthless little grin on her lips. "Miss Granger?"

"Hmm?" Hermione gave herself a shake, her gaze darting from the professor, to Harry—who's eyes glimmered with embarrassed amusement, though it didn't show in his expression—and back. "Oh, well, that's true professor."

When silence fell once more, and it became clear that Miss Granger thought that meager response enough, the professor stood painfully straight. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and tapped a foot against the floor, the sound quite distinct and a little unnerving.

The words to supply an appropriate, acceptable response formed seemingly on their own, tumbling from Hermione's lips nearly before she even realized she was speaking. "I've been having bad dreams since returning to classes this year. I was simply scared and didn't want to be alone. So I . . . ." She shrugged, lowering her gaze. "I just went to Harry's room and crawled under the blankets. I don't even think I was_ really_ thinking through what I was doing. I was half-asleep and frightened, I'm sorry."

Harry's eyebrows shot up behind the wire rims of his glasses. The professor caught his gaze, but he could only offer a shrug of his own as he waved a hand in Hermione's direction, the gesture clearly stating _I told you so._

The tension in Professor McGonagall's shoulders eased and her expression softened. "Miss Granger, you could have come to me at any time with this. Do you want to speak to anyone about your nightmares?"

Hermione's gaze shot to the Head Matron's. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. She couldn't tell anyone an ancient Egyptian god was pestering her in her sleep, nor did she think she had it in her to come up with a convincing tale of dark and terrifying nighttime imaginings.

"I think I'll be all right, Professor. I just need a little time after everything."

The professor nodded, resting a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Under the circumstances, I will let you both slide with a warning. However, Miss Granger, the next time you have bad dreams, I would suggest you seek Madame Pomfrey's aid. I'm sure she has a potion for dreamless sleep somewhere in her rather extensive cupboard."

McGonagall withdrew her hand and made her way around her desk. "Now," she said as she gathered the length of her robes in her hands and carefully sat. A sound like a set of bagpipes deflating rang through the air as she settled in.

She looked to the two of them, pointedly, one brow arched. That they both wore startled expressions at the sudden noise was quite telling, the elder witch felt. It spoke to their lack of awareness about whatever had been done to her favorite chair.

"Do either of you two know anything about this recent rash of pranks?"

Hermione breathed an easy sigh, the woman's choice of words allowed her to deny any knowledge of _pranks_ guilt-free, as a matter of semantics. She and Harry exchanged a bewildered glance and then shook their heads.

Now, had Professor McGonagall asked about _dares_ . . . .

* * *

><p>For a long while as Harry and Hermione made their way back to Gryffindor tower, they were silent.<p>

"Nightmares?"

She met Harry's gaze as they walked. "Kept us out of trouble, didn't it?"

He nodded, pursing his lips. "So," he said after a moment of thought, "no truth to that, right?"

Sparing the second necessary for her to process an answer that would stop Harry from getting involved with Set—she hadn't _technically_ had any nightmares, just a bizarre dream and a night of non-quite-dreaming—she shook her head. "No truth to that."

Neither of them was keen to speak on the other issue, the one now looming over their heads. But an awkwardness fell between them as they each realized they were deliberately avoiding it.

"We're still friends, right?" Harry said, his voice low.

Hermione halted, turning to face him. "You mean we're still _only_ friends?"

"Yes, th—that's what I mean."

She couldn't help a giggle at his sudden nervousness—this wasn't about liking her, or something ridiculous like that, he wanted to be certain what had happened between them last night didn't change her feelings toward him. "Yes, Harry. We're still only friends. I'm okay with that, if you are."

He tried to hide a half-smile. "I'm okay with it."

"Good," she turned forward, but he didn't fall into step beside her and she looked back at him. "Harry?"

Holding her gaze for a long moment, he bit his lip.

She knew that look. That look meant he wanted to say something, but wasn't certain how she'd take it. Eyebrows shooting up her forehead, she turned back to face him fully, once more.

"This thing with you and Malfoy . . . . Is it going to happen again?"

Hermione's shoulders drooped, her entire frame seeming to crumble before his eyes as she groaned. Dragging herself back up to stand straight, she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She couldn't lie to him about this and she didn't even want to try.

"I'll tell you exactly what I told him after it happened and that's that I don't know. I honestly don't."

Harry set his jaw, but remained silent.

"Oh, no, Harry, don't give me that look," she said, her voice tight. "You want me to lie to you?"

Sighing, he shook his head. "No, of course not."

"Then it is what it is, okay?" Frowning, she darted her gaze about. "I'm not going to go looking for it to happen again or go out of my way to make it happen. But if I'm honest with myself, I didn't hate it. Not even close, okay? I'm sorry I didn't, because I know how you feel about him, but I also know now that I can't guarantee that it was a one-time thing."

He nodded, mostly ignoring her Malfoy-centric outburst. "So this is where we are? We're friends who do other things, and that means we can do those things with others, too?"

Her jaw dropped. Was this where they were now? Seemed to be. "I guess so."

Harry furrowed his brow, uncertain of what exactly was going on, or even how he felt about it. He wasn't angry, simply . . . unsure. "Then you'll go on, snogging Malfoy, if you find yourself in a situation to do so, and I can just go snog anyone I want, too?"

She ignored that she felt a flare of color bloom in her cheeks. "Yes."

"Well, then" he shook his head, feeling, strangely and suddenly, a bit irrational. "Maybe I will."

"You should," she said, nodding, her hands balling into fists.

"Okay, then."

"Okay!"

Hermione stared after Harry as he began stomping toward Gryffindor tower, once more. What the bloody hell had they even just been arguing about? For a long moment, she simply stood there, in the middle of the staircase, blinking rapidly as she tried to process the situation. They weren't a couple, they _weren't;_ they'd _just_ established that. So then, why were they fighting like one?

Had they always sounded this way when they fought and she simply hadn't noticed? No, no . . . that couldn't be.

At the top of the steps, he turned to look back at her. "Hermione? C'mon."

Giving herself a shake, she nodded. "Right, sorry."

* * *

><p><em>She roused to the feel of fingers gently stroking her cheek. Blinking her eyes open, she saw Set before her. Hermione frowned, but didn't bother trying to move. She knew it would be useless. He had her lying on her back on the chaise, with her head pillowed against his lap as he stared down at her, touching her face.<em>

_"Why do you come into my dreams?" Her words spilled out in a sleepy tumble._

_"Because I can," he said, his voice soft._

_Set lowered his face, brushing his mouth over hers as he swept his hands down her body. He chuckled, deep and rich, when she moaned softly at the feel of him cupping her breasts. Thrusting his tongue between her lips, he kneaded the soft flesh._

_He relinquished a bit of his control over her, delighted when she arched her back, pushing herself against his hands, caressing his plunging tongue with her own._

_Breaking the kiss, Set dragged his lips across her cheek to whisper in her ear, "I have a surprise for you."_

_He nudged her face ever so gently with his chin, turning her head against his thigh to look toward the gilded mirror. On the chaise in the reflection, Harry was in Set's place this time, and Draco . . . Draco sat on his heels beside the chaise, his head resting against Harry's knee as he ran his fingers along her skin._

_She shuddered, feeling that phantom touch. As she watched the scene in the mirror, her breath caught in her throat and she realized there was something sinful and wicked in that—in the feel of Harry's lips trailing along her throat while Draco's hands __moved over her—and she was _enjoying_ it._

_Then Harry opened his eyes and locked gazes with the real Hermione. And those eyes were not the green eyes of her best friend, but the turquoise-blue of the Egyptian god of chaos._

* * *

><p>Granger hadn't been in class and Draco hadn't realized he was <em>actually<em> looking for her. Not until he found himself walking into the library. But, to his surprise, she wasn't there.

With a great deal of sighing and shaking his head at his actions—honestly, he didn't care, he didn't, he didn't even know why he was looking for her—he made his way out to the lake for some fresh air. He _didn't _care! And it didn't bother him one bit about this thing with her and Potter being dragged into the Head Matron's office in their nightclothes. After their history with the school, that could have been about _anything_. It didn't have to be about what it looked like.

Draco sank his teeth into his bottom lip as he shook a fist at himself. Even if it was what it looked like, he absolutely couldn't care _less_.

And then, as he stepped onto the shore, he saw her. From the corner of his eye, he caught the trailing of mad, golden-brown locks in the breeze. Turning to look, he saw Granger there, tucked down beside a tree.

Asleep.

Chuckling as he shook his head, he walked over to her and sat down as carefully and silently as he could. There was a strange, savage sort of joy as he prepared to startle her awake.

She shifted in her sleep, making a strangled noise in the back of her throat. Her arm moved against her thigh, tugging up her sleeve.

The bizarre sound made him pull back a bit to look at her. His gaze fell to a small mark on the inside of her wrist. Frowning, he leaned closer to get a better look at the symbol. Was that a hieroglyph?

Something about it felt . . . strange. Before he realized it, he reached out, the tips of his fingers itching to trace the lines of the symbol.

As he swept a fingertip over her skin, Hermione jerked awake, letting out a short, frightened cry.

He shot back, grey eyes wide as he watched her collect herself.

She breathed deep a few times, exhaling slowly as she tried to make sense of what Set had shown her in the dream. As she darted her gaze about, she noticed her exposed wrist.

Instantly, she met Draco's eyes. Even as she scrambled to pull down the cuff of her sleeve, she knew from the look on his face; she knew he'd seen it. Knew he was wondering about it.

Set's eyes in Harry's face? Did that mean that Set . . . Set wanted to _possess_ Harry? To use him as a vessel or something? She realized with a jagged, cold sensation in the pit of her stomach that by showing her his intent, Set was bragging. He probably thought she could do nothing to stop him.

And she wasn't certain he was wrong.

Biting her lip, she took a long moment, merely holding Draco's gaze as she forced her eyes not to tear. "Okay," she said forcing a shaky breath.

Draco's brows shot up, aware some silent conflict in that over-thinking head of hers. "Okay?"

She nodded, lowering her gaze. "You said . . . you said you thought someone was doing something to me. I don't think I can tell anyone else. But I'll tell you, maybe . . . maybe you can help, because I don't think I can do this alone."

"Help?" Draco wasn't certain his eyebrows could climb any higher up his forehead than they already were. "Why would you think I'd ever be helpful?" Honestly, everything about him in the course of their time at Hogwarts bellowed the word _untrustworthy._

Hermione fixed him with her very best _oh, please_ look. "Because you didn't only notice that something was happening with me, you _asked_ about it."

Thinking back on their conversation beneath the stairwell, Draco rolled his eyes so hard the lids fluttered. She was right, damn it all. "Fine, Granger," he said, heaving a weighted sigh. "Tell me."


	6. An Hour's Mischief

**Next to Update****: ****_Dame Blanche_**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

An Hour's Mischief

She groaned, a tiny, pleading sound as Draco broke the kiss and nudged her face up to drop his lips to the side of her throat. Biting into her bottom lip as his tongue swirled and teased across her skin, Hermione let her head roll to one side against the tree at her back.

He leaned against her and the simple, solid warmth of his body pressing to hers jarred her. Her eyes opened with slow, drowsy blinks and she darted her gaze about, trying to remember how they'd gotten there.

She'd been dreaming, then started awake . . . . He agreed to listen to what she had to say . . . . Next thing she knew, they were snogging and she'd been pushed back against the tree.

"Wait, wait," she said breathlessly, pulling her hands—oh, God, they'd gone and snuck under his shirt to trace his bare skin with the tip of her fingers, _again_—free to brace her palms on his shoulders. Stupid bloody things clearly had a mind of their own as of late!

He lifted his head, brow furrowing as he met her gaze.

"What are we doing?"

"You're joking," he said, his tone utterly mirthless as he narrowed his eyes.

When she only gave him a blank, blushing stare in response, he leaned forward, so close that the tip of his nose nearly brushed hers. "You said something about how Potter's in danger and it's your fault, and you dropped your voice very low, so I leaned in to listen. You grabbed me by the collar, pulled me on top of you and now we're _here_."

Now that he described the scene, she clearly recalled the events playing out in exactly that manner. She winced and let out a harsh sigh. This wasn't even Set's nudging, this was her—all _her_, being short on sleep, and tormented, and conflicted about her feelings.

"Oh my God," she whispered, opening her eyes to lock gazes with him once more. "I'm . . . I'm so sorry, Malfoy."

He scowled. "You've either got to stop snogging me, or you've got to stop _apologizing_ for the things that seem to naturally follow you snogging me."

Well, now she was just confused. "Um . . . ." She paused to force a gulp down her throat—he was still pressed against her with his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her skin each time he spoke. Perhaps he didn't realize how distracting he was being at the moment without even _doing_ anything! "Which—which one would you like me to stop doing?"

Genuinely caught off-guard by the question, Draco couldn't help the surprised chuckle that erupted from him as he sat up and pulled her with him to sit properly.

She didn't know quite how to feel, her hands fluttering about her hair to get it into some semblance of order as she watched him straighten his shirt and tuck it back into his trousers. "Is . . . is what I said really that funny?"

"No," he said, shaking his head as met her gaze. "What's funny is how little you understand your own wants. And _that _was my entire point."

Again she gave him a face of utter confusion

He groaned, sparing a moment to bury his face in his hands. "Merlin's Beard, woman. We've only been at this for three days and already you're exhausting me."

Her expression pinched as she tried to think of something to say. He was right, she knew that—right to be frustrated with her for starting things when she hadn't the faintest clue what she was doing, or where it might lead. She simply hadn't realized it'd been three days, but if he was counting from that first kiss in the Great Hall, which, of course, he had to be—

"It's really simple, Granger. You either _do_ want me, or you don't. If you do, stop apologizing for snogging me, if you don't . . . ." He let his voice trail off and then shot forward.

Hermione gave a startled gasp to find him in her face, once more.

He kissed her hard, deliberately waiting for her response—waiting for the way her body drifted forward to press against his, and the way she made that sweet, pleading little moan in the back of her throat as she parted her lips and eagerly caressed his plunging tongue with her own—before he broke the kiss and said in a lethal tone, "Then stop fucking snogging me!"

She drew a deep, shaky breath as she collected herself and nodded. "Okay, um . . . ." Perhaps now was the best time for a little honesty—for his sake, and her own. She couldn't very well expect him to take her word about everything else that was happening if he was already so keenly aware that she wasn't being completely truthful.

"Okay," she said again, pausing to clear her throat as she tucked her hands between her knees so she wouldn't fidget. "Well, I admit that after that first kiss . . . . I may have realized that I'm actually rather attracted to you. And, clearly, you must've had a similar realization regarding me, or you wouldn't have felt it necessary to lure me under that stairwell yesterday and demand an explanation when you already had one. I mean it wouldn't have gotten to you so much, and you'd have just—"

"You're going into Granger-babble-mode," he said, his eyebrows drawn up at how easily she fell into rambling when she spoke while nervous.

Again, her expression pinched. "Sorry. It's just . . . ." She let out an exasperated sigh as she shifted position to face him fully. "I . . . I _do _want you, but I know I'm not supposed to and that's why I can't stop apologizing for it."

He nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "What do you know? Progress. Okay, since you sidetracked_ so _spectacularly, maybe we should get back on topic, now?"

Biting her lip, she nodded back and pushed up to stand, though her legs trembled a little beneath her—she thought perhaps that was a sign that she'd been more nervous about the admission she'd just made to Malfoy than she was willing to admit to herself. "Right, sorry. I need to show you what I saw in the library while I explain, and you can't tell_ anyone_. This could be . . . . Well, I don't know, exactly, but dangerous at the very least."

"All right, lead on. And you just apologized again," he said with a laugh as he stood.

"Oh." She cringed at the habit and shook her head. "Sorry."

He only laughed harder as he trailed a step behind her back toward the school. "And _again_."

"Oh, will you stop it?" she asked, her tone mildly exasperated.

Draco seemed to find the situation endlessly amusing. "You stop it, you're the one who keeps apologizing for everything."

She let out an odd, squeaky sound of frustration. "Yes, and I already said sorry for that."

"And, _again_, that's exactly my point

* * *

><p>Harry looked up from the book in his hands as he passed the door to the potions storeroom. A distinct, unhappy muttering drifted through the open entryway from somewhere further inside.<p>

Frowning, he closed the book as quietly as he could and stepped over to the doorway, listening.

"Honestly . . . switching Gillyweed and Devil's Snare? Are they _trying_ to kill someone?"

Brows lifting over the wire rims of his glasses, Harry ducked his head inside. Professor Slughorn sat on the floor in the narrow space allowed by the tightly packed shelves—he thought it a bloody miracle the plump man actually fit—with dozens of ingredient bottles scattered about, half of them with the labels removed.

The older wizard kept on muttering to himself, shaking his head as he examined the contents of each bottle and then scrambled to find the one which had the label that should be on the first.

Swallowing hard, Harry nodded to no one in particular and stepped back, again. As he returned his attention to his book and continued down the corridor, he sincerely hoped the professor could have it all properly sorted before the next potions class.

Honestly, it was as though Fred Weasley was haunting the castle. Sadly, he found himself wishing that was the case, but he knew it wasn't so. The twins had been endlessly proud of their mischief-making, and not one person had mentioned seeing Fred among the swath of new ghosts floating about the grounds since the War.

No, if Fred Weasley's puckish specter had stuck about at Hogwarts, everyone would know it. . . . And Professor McGonagall would have resigned from the headmaster post right then and there.

A bit of dust sprinkled down unexpectedly, landing on the page open in front of him. He squared his jaw and sighed. He was never going to get to finish this book, was he?

Shaking his head, he looked up. Dangling from the rafters were . . . .

"Shoes?" His eyebrows shot up.

Surely, as he walked he kept his head tipped back, his gaze trained toward the ceiling. Different styles and sizes, dozens of them, and yet . . . .

"They're all just left shoes?"

He crinkled the bridge of his nose as he pondered the sight. Somehow, shoes dangling from the ceiling seemed familiar.

"Luna?"

There was a soft, impish laugh and Harry dropped his head to look toward the end of the corridor. He was just in time to see a mass of wavy platinum locks disappear around the bend.

"What the bloody hell is going on around here?" he asked the empty hallway in a whisper.

Glancing again toward the collection of footwear above him, he shook his head and started after her.

As he dashed out and rounded the corner where he'd seen her vanish, he found the corridor empty. Frowning, his shoulders slumped.

"Why's it only the left shoes?" he repeated to the vacant passage, confused.

"Because—"

Harry spun on a heel at the sound of Luna's soft, tinkling voice behind him.

She shrugged and gave that usual, perfectly serene smile of hers. "Everyone _expects_ you to take both."

He didn't know how to respond to that, his jaw dropping and rising a few times as he tried to work up a reply. But just like that, she bounced past him and skipped down the corridor.

* * *

><p>Blaise stopped short as he made his way down the steps. Pansy sat at the bottom, her hands clasped before her and her head tipped to one side as she stared off.<p>

He arched a brow. She hadn't said a word to him since leaving his room yesterday evening, and he didn't know if that was a good thing, or a bad one. Was that a one-off? Were they a thing now? Or had they somehow—at her leave, because she hadn't actually consulted him on the matter—become friends with benefits?

Well . . . he supposed the only way to find out was to ask her. Not that he was terribly thrilled with the idea of having to discuss it. Shagging was one thing, but _talking_?

Squaring his shoulders, he nodded to himself and continued down the stairs. As he reached her, he opened his mouth to speak, but she must've heard him, must've known it was him, somehow, because she held up a hand and whispered a hushing sound.

Brow furrowing, he moved as silently as he could to take a seat beside her on the step. Following her gaze, he found that she was watching Peeves. And Peeves was watching a Hufflepuff stroll down the corridor near one of the school's trophy display cases.

Blaise made an expression that might've been a preemptive wince. He didn't know what was coming, but he had a terrible feeling something quite noisy was about to happen.

Shoulder shaking in silent laughter, Peeves crouched down and opened one hand, allowing a marble to roll onto the floor. Eyes narrowing, he gauged the student's footfalls and then flicked the marble toward him.

Eyebrows shooting up, Blaise watched, somewhere between awe and horror as the heel of the Hufflepuff's shoe settled over the marble and the young man was sent flying backward. He knocked into a suit of armor as he landed, creating the most awful chain-reaction as the suit caught against a large plaque, the plaque pulled loose from its perch on the wall and fell right into the display case.

Blaise had absolutely no idea what to think as he waited for the horrible, discordant array of sounds to end. But that wasn't the only sound to be heard. Beneath the noises of crashing glass and metal grinding against stone, he heard a rather distinct thing, indeed.

Pansy was giggling at the mayhem.

In a bit of shock, he turned his head to look at her. "Why are you laughing?"

Meeting his gaze, she smirked and gave a wink. "Who d'you think gave Peeves the marble?" she whispered.

* * *

><p>Frowning darkly, Draco looked from the symbol in the book to the one on Hermione's wrist, again. They <em>were<em> identical. That wasn't the most upsetting part, though. No, what bothered him was the animal that kept appearing in the passage about this Ancient Egyptian chaos god.

. . . A Serpent.

He was beginning to get a sick, twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd thought the mark on her wrist had seemed familiar to him, somehow. Now he had to wonder if this wasn't the connection that made that so.

He was also still having trouble with the fact that this was all happening because of that silly little ring Granger was wearing. But if Set had marked her just for taking it off, and made it hurt just for her thinking to tell Potter . . . .

God, she really was backed into a corner wasn't she?

As it was, she just sat there, so quiet and unlike herself. She bit her lip and stared into her lap as she tugged her sleeve back down to cover the mark.

He reminded himself sternly that whatever was between them was strictly physical, he wasn't _actually_ worried about her, so much as . . . concerned, because if they didn't do something, an ancient chaos god was going to be running about modern day Wizarding Britain in full use of Harry Potter's magical abilities.

"Okay, well . . . ." He waited until she looked up and immediately regretted it. Those huge chestnut eyes looked so very lost and he wasn't used to that look—not from Hermione Granger, anyway.

Draco cleared his throat and tried again. "I think, first of all, if you're seeing a particular part of the tunnels under the school, maybe we should go check that out. Maybe it could be something. And the next time you dream about that weird room, try to look around more, see if there's anything that stands out, or tells you something."

She nodded, gnawing at her bottom lip.

"And he's calling you Nephthys?"

Again, she nodded.

He crinkled his the bridge of his nose in distaste as he read further along the passage. "Okay, well . . . it's decided, Ancient Egyptian gods were just . . . _sick_." Propping an elbow on the table, he closed his eyes tight and massaged his temples with thumb and forefinger.

"What d'you mean?" she asked, afraid to look, herself. Though, honestly, if Harry hadn't interrupted her the other day, she would have read the entire entry herself, already.

"Nephthys wasn't just his wife-consort, she was . . . his _sister_. And he had some twisted sexual, love-hate relationship with his nephew, Horus."

"Oh my God," Hermione said, her expression souring. "What have I gotten myself into?"

Unable to help himself from at least trying to make some comforting gesture, he reached out, laying his free hand over one of hers. "There was _literally_ no way for you to know. All _you_ did was put on a piece of costume jewelry."

Swallowing hard, she nodded. He was right—again, and of course—but she still couldn't help feeling responsible.

"Wait," Draco said, his grey eyes brightening a little. "You can't warn Potter, but what's to stop me?"

Her face lit up, but immediately a pained look twisted her features and she let out a low, groaning sound from between clenched teeth.

"Granger, what is it?" He demanded, uncaring that his heart was suddenly pounding so hard that he could hear the beat of his own pulse in his ears.

Turning over her arm, she pulled her sleeve back. A second mark had appeared; the skin around what looked like a hieroglyph drawn in kohl was red and tender.

"Sometimes . . ." she whispered, her voice small and shaky—how had this being torn her down to this so quickly? "Sometimes he listens _through_ me. And I'm pretty sure he just heard you."

Biting hard into his bottom lip to hold in a sound of anger, Draco examined the mark, examined the rawness of the skin surrounding it. He thought again on her words—that Set had shown her his intention because he felt there was nothing she could do to stop him.

And if Set was going to hurt Hermione whenever _he _tried to help her . . . . He suddenly wasn't so sure Set was wrong.

"Fine," he said, hoping to speak the words that would appease the stupid, ruddy deity. He would just have to look into this without letting on to Granger that he was doing any such thing, so Set wouldn't be _able _to listen through her.

"Fine. We'll just have to do what he wants, for now."

Her eyes watered and the lids drifted downward. Bottom lip trembling, she drew a deep breath.

"Granger? What's wrong?"

Shaking her head, she whispered, "I can feel him laughing."


	7. An Unlikely Partnership

**For my readers who noticed the new fic last night, I would like to assure you of two things:**

**1) Yes, it is a Lucius-Hermione-Severus story. I have _NOT_ jumped ships, I'm writing that fic as a gift for a dear friend here on FF, Brightki.**

**2) Writing that story will NOT interfere with updates to my current fics. It will not be added into the update cycle, so that I can update that fic as needed without causing any interruptions.**

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><p><span><strong>Next to update<strong>**: ****_Dame Blanche_**

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

An Unlikely Partnership

_Hermione stirred, but didn't open her eyes. She didn't have to; the scent of incense tickling her nose and gentle fingertips stroking down her shoulders and along her back told her precisely where she was. The feel of him beneath her was quite distinct_—_she couldn't have ignored that he was nude, and apparently so was she, if she tried. She was shamefully aware of every inch of his warm, smooth skin pressed against hers. But then she thought he probably intended it that very reaction from her._

_"You must know that now that I have been let in, there is no stopping what's to come."_

_She forced a gulp down her throat, but still didn't open her eyes. She knew Draco said she should look around more; that she should try to find out more about this place, but she was afraid to look._

_Afraid that it would be no use. And she hated being afraid._

_Biting her bottom lip, she opened her eyes and made herself glance about the room. To her dread, nothing was familiar. The walls were sand-colored, she supposed that made sense. Sleek banners emblazoned with hieroglyphs were stationed at seemingly random intervals. There was a bed—Set was a bit of a sexual deviant, she wasn't surprised there was a bed—that very much matched the look of the chaise upon which they lounged, and the gilded mirror. The furnishings were all gold with onyx trim; in some places there were splashes of that pale blue._

_He tipped his head down, watching her as she darted her gaze about the chamber. A smirk tugged one corner of his mouth upward as he noted the way her attention lingered on the bed._

_She lay on top of him, her cheek pillowed against his chest. Hermione could feel the rumbling of his chuckle._

_"What's so funny?"_

_"You appear fascinated by the bed. We could move there. I am certain I can alter my behavior accordingly."_

_Her eyes widened and she gave herself a little shake. Was he trying to say he'd been so docile—as per what Draco had read to her from the book in the library, anyway—because the item of furniture they were on didn't suit?_

_She shook her head, or tried to; it just sort of wobbled against his chest. "No, I . . . I think we're fine here."_

_Once more her gaze skirted the room, but she lowered her lids, hoping it might look to him as though she was drifting off. Everything seemed so much more detailed than she could recall before. It made her wonder if she truly wasn't paying attention before now, or . . . ._

_Could there be some reason their surroundings might be sharper and more clearly defined, now?_

_Her attention landed on one of the banners. She traced the hieroglyphs that she thought matched the ones on her wrist. There were more on the banner, and she cringed inwardly as she wondered how much more she'd have to appease him to keep any more of those symbols from burning into her skin._

_And all at once, it clicked._

_The room didn't simply seem more defined, it was. Everything was clear, no longer fuzzy around the edges, as in dreams. The symbols the God of Chaos was using to mark and subdue her were sharp and crisp._

The God of Chaos . . . .

_A dull and terrible certainty wound through the pit of her stomach as Set continued stroking his fingers along her skin. As he continued holding her against him like a lover. Her antics, the dares the other girls had given themselves at her prompting which were no causing so much mischief—so much chaos—within the school._

_She hadn't been appeasing Set at all. She'd been feeding him._

_Hermione closed her eyes tight and forced her breaths not to tremble as they escaped her lips. She prayed she would wake, soon._

* * *

><p>Draco shook his head at his rotten luck. Why did this have to happen now? Why couldn't this have struck them all a few years ago? Back then the entire school could have fallen into the sea and he wouldn't have given a damn.<p>

But now . . . . Oh, he wasn't even going to think on why he gave a damn now.

Potter was walking down the corridor toward him at this very moment. No one of any importance was about—a few first years still getting their bearings wandered through every now and then—and if he didn't get this over with straight away, he wasn't certain there would be another chance to warn him.

Merlin's Beard, his luck was _rotten_.

Harry held in a sigh as someone stepped into his path. He noticed the motion just over the top of the book he was reading. Or trying to read.

The same bloody book he'd been trying to read _all_ afternoon.

With a sigh, he halted in his tracks. Snapping the book closed and letting the hand holding it fall to his side, he raised his head. And felt his irritated expression harden into a scowl.

"Malfoy."

Draco set his jaw as he said, "Potter."

"Is there . . . ." He fought not to react visibly as he pushed aside the memory of Hermione's voice as she'd told him about snogging the pale-haired Slytherin wizard. Well . . . snogging _and_ touching, as if her utter candidness made it better.

He tried again, with a shake of his head and a clearing of his throat. "Is there something you wanted?"

Lowering his gaze—what he had to tell him sounded _beyond _mad—Draco nodded. "We have to talk. It's about—"

"Wait, don't tell me. It's about Hermione."

Eyebrows lifting, Draco brought his gaze back to Harry's. "Uh, yes."

"Well," Harry said as he shook his head once more, "don't know why you'd want to talk to me. Hermione told me what happened between you two, and it's apparently none of my business who she does what with, anyway."

He heard the snappiness of his tone in his own ears. Harry pushed aside that he actually sounded angry. He wasn't supposed to be angry, after all, any more than Hermione should be angry if he went off and snogged Luna.

Well, snogged _and_ touched . . . . That certainly made for an interesting mental picture.

In spite of himself, Draco found his eyebrows shooting up into his bangs. "Oh, she . . . she did? Okay, well, that's not really—"

"Look, I don't care and I don't see why you'd come talk to me about whatever's going on with you and Hermione."

Something in Harry's presumptuous tone set Draco off—famous Harry Potter, always in the center of things, whatever he thought was happening _must _be all that mattered—and he snapped. "This isn't about that, and you'd know that already if you'd shut up and listen for two minutes, you sanctimonious little shit!"

Harry's eyebrows drew together as he held Draco's unhappy gaze. "Sanctimonious?"

Draco shrugged, though his hard expression lightened only a little. "Sort of."

"Okay," Harry said with a nod and a tired roll of his eyes. "So then what is this about?"

"It . . . ." Draco tossed a glance around, realizing he needed to pull one of Granger's tactics. "It's not easy to explain and it does have to do with Granger, but not how you think. If I'm to explain properly, then you need to come with me to the Library. Now. We haven't got much time."

Harry watched in utter bewilderment as Draco turned on his heel and started down the corridor.

"Wait, what's going on?"

Letting a sigh hiss out from between clenched teeth, Draco paused mid-stride and turned back to look at the other young man. "She's in danger, okay?"

Green eyes flashed wide behind wire-rim glasses. "Hermione?"

"Was there any other _she_ we were talking about just now?" Draco shook his head impatiently. "Yes, Granger—_Hermione_ is in danger." He gave Harry a pointed once-over. "And so are you. Now, c'mon. Like I said, not a lot of time."

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><p>Harry sat back, his gaze flicking from the book open before them, up to Draco's pained expression, and back. He kept waiting to learn this was all some twisted joke.<p>

Steepling his hands in front of his mouth for a moment as he thought, he spoke with his fingers pressed against his lips. "Are you just trying to get back at me, or something?"

Draco rolled his shoulders and heaved an exhausted sigh. "What are you going on about? Get you back for what?"

"Didn't she tell you she visited me in my dorm room last night?"

"I . . . ." Shaking his head, Draco blinked rapidly a few times as he sorted through everything Granger had told him. "No, no. She did . . . . Look, what she does with you is no more my business than what she does with me is yours."

Harry's eyebrows drew upward as he tilted his head to one side. Well, Malfoy certainly had a good handle on the situation, he'd give him that.

Nodding, Draco held up a hand. "Okay, yes, at some point, that's probably going to get _really_ complicated. Try to focus, will you?"

"Fine," Harry said, shrugging. He looked back at the book . . . and Draco's words clicked. The potions stores . . . Luna and the shoes . . . the professors with their Easter egg faces. He shook his head . . . Professor Trelawney and her singed knickers. Dear God, poor Professor Trelawney!

"Oh, God, it does make sense, now." He met Draco's unimpressed gaze. "Well, as much sense as something can make sense when you place the words Ancient God of Chaos into the conversation."

Draco nodded as he let out a sigh. "Well, at least you're listening to reason, now."

"Okay, but . . . I don't get it. Why's he want to possess_ me_?"

Uttering a sound of disgust in the back of his throat, Draco rolled his eyes. "For the same reason everything's about _you, _stupid."

Harry's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't really understand what the other young man was getting at.

"_Because_ it's you, Potter," Draco said, feeling drained by the effort it took to hold the conversation civilly, alone. "Boy Who Lived, vanquisher of the Dark Lord twice-over . . . . Give me that 'why me' rubbish . . . ."

With a frown, Harry asked, "Okay, so fine, me. Whatever. He's got Hermione on some sort of supernatural lock-down, and is planning on possessing me. Why are _you_ the safe one?"

Sliding the book back toward himself, Draco closed it and then returned his attention to Harry. "What'd you mean, the safe one?"

"Hermione's his new Nephthys, I'm . . . I dunno, his new_ him_, I suppose . . . ." Harry shrugged as he shook his head. "You're the only other person he's mentioned, according to what you've told me she said. Aren't you afraid he'll try to get in your head, too?"

Draco's eyebrows inched upward, his complete lack of alarm and concern a bit unsettling. "No. Not at the moment, anyway."

Harry's frown deepened. He didn't like Malfoy's calmness, not when he was the one who'd initiated this ludicrous discussion in the first place. "What'd you mean, not at the moment?"

Squaring his jaw, Draco shrugged, his tone icy. "Unlike you, _I_ excelled at Occlumency."

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to snap back at him, to have some nasty retort just for the sake of it. But then he realized that made sense—he and Draco were such opposites, after all.

"But again," Draco conceded with a nod, "that's why we should work quickly. I don't know how long it'll be before he finds away 'round that. I mean . . . ancient god. Anyone's got a way to do it, it'd be him."

Harry winced, a dull ache starting behind his forehead. He nodded, lifting a hand to rub away the pain as he asked, "So what're we looking for, exactly?"

"You okay?"

Shaking his head, Harry chuckled. "You're asking if _I'm_ okay? Now I know we're all in trouble."

Draco rolled his eyes as he stood and returned the book to the shelf. He wasn't going to grace Potter with a laugh. They were working together, that didn't mean they had to be friendly about it. In fact, he thought it might be easier if they were as not-chummy as possible.

Luckily the library was rather vacant just now. Draco spoke over his shoulder as he skimmed the spines in the bookcase. "I'd think we want to trap him, again. The way he had been in Granger's ring. Maybe if we can do that, we get him separated from her and don't have to worry about how to keep him from getting to you."

Harry winced once more, squeezing his eyes shut as he propped his elbows on the table and pressed his palms against his forehead.

Draco glanced back at the low thumping noise to see Potter appearing as though he was ready to fall over where he sat. Frowning as his shoulders slumped—always something with these damned Gryffindors—Draco gave up his search and came back to the table.

Leaning down, he peered into Harry's face. His pale, clammy-looking face. Well, that wasn't good. "Merlin's Beard, you look like shit. C'mon, let's get you to Madame Pomfrey."

Sitting up straight, Harry nodded. The pain was receding, but he supposed a quick checkup couldn't hurt, especially with what was going on. Sighing, he opened his eyes and Malfoy recoiled, visibly forcing a gulp down his throat.

Harry furrowed his brow. "What?"

"They're _blue_."

Tipping his head to one side as though he'd misheard, Harry asked, "What?"

"Your eyes, Potter," Draco said, nodding and looking at a loss for what to do. "They're blue. Just like—"

"Just like Set showed Hermione they'd be," Harry whispered, his eyelids drifting downward as he wondered how much time they had left, _now._


	8. A Turbulent Night

**I just want to give everyone a head's up: I have so many plunnies building up as I wait to finish my current stories that I may (may) write the opening chapters for a few & post them. Posting them so you guys can get a taste of what's in store when these present fics are completed and so you can see that I'm still about & writing, if there is a delay in updates. However, I don't want anyone to panic, if you see a new story notification, it's likely only me posting that first chapter to a fic; I'm not officially starting a new story, nor will that story be added into the update schedule and cause further delays to the fic(s) you're waiting on.**

**I have also started a secondary writing profile under the name . . . Apocalyptic Freya. If you're wondering what's up with that pseudonym you can ask me in review, or PM or simply refer to my profile page for the explanation. Long story short, I have been struck with a plunnie for something I thought I never would write a fanfic of, but since I've committed myself to writing any plunnie which comes to me, I have no choice. So, since I referred to this as the "Sign of the End Times" plunnie, I decided to go with that in choosing the name of the profile where fics resulting from such plunnies will be housed.**

**That being said, I apologize for the recent delay in updates, I've been familiarizing myself with the canon source material for the Doom Plunnie.**

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><p><span><strong>Next to Update<strong>**: **_**Dame Blanche**_

**Chapter Eight**

A Turbulent Night

Everyone else had gone up to bed, and there they sat, so close together he was constantly aware of the pressure of her thigh pressing lightly to his.

"I'm fine, I promise," Harry said, guessing how unsettling his strangely blue eyes must be for Hermione to stare into after seven years of knowing their true, green shade.

Of course, she probably wasn't nearly as unsettled by that as he was by Malfoy's continued presence throughout the afternoon and most of the evening. After walking _with_ him to the hospital wing—presumably in case anything else strange befell him during that scant amount of time—Malfoy had scooted off to fetch Hermione. But then, after he'd gotten Hermione there, Draco did the most puzzling thing imaginable. He'd pulled up a chair and sat _right_ there, next to where Hermione stood as she fretted and tsk'ed.

She didn't bother demanding an explanation, but he was pretty sure neither of them had expected her to be clueless as to the cause of this.

The three breathed a collective sigh of relief when Madam Pomfrey could find no medical, or magical malady to explain the change. The Healer noted aloud that it must be another in the long line of recent pranks. Hogwarts' student body had fought through the Second Wizarding War, covering up the who and the mechanics behind the minor—though obviously tweaked, so it would not be easy to remove—glamour spell would be a piece of cake for any of them.

But perhaps, Harry thought, something about their peculiar situation was bound to have this affect. How could they deal with this Set business—which was somehow about all three of them—without a tenuous, regrettable, yet understandable and possibly even necessary bond?

God, what an awful thought that was.

Hermione hadn't left him alone the entire rest of the day. Oh, certainly she'd not made a nuisance of herself, no. Rather she stayed beside him, worriedly watching his face in silence for hours on end.

"I know you're okay," she finally said after another few moments of mute observation. "Can't blame me for worrying about just how this happened, or what's going to happen next, now can you?"

"I know exactly why this happened, Hermione." His tone came out a little rougher than he wanted and she instantly pulled back from him, wincing.

"I didn't_ know_ any of this was going to happen!"

Harry let out a sigh, his expression immediately apologetic, but when he looked from the dwindling flames in the fireplace to her face, he saw that her gaze was on the floor. She didn't know he didn't mean _her_, because she'd only heard the note in his voice.

Biting her lip hard, she shook her head. "I'm sorry. This is a mess, and it's all my fault and I don't know how to stop any of it. I know that if I'd told you from the beginning, if I'd been totally honest with you that first night, then maybe there'd be something—"

"Hermione!" Harry rested his hand over hers to still her anxious rambling. Her fingers trembled beneath his; when she'd pulled away, she'd inched from his side, putting a hair's breadth of space between them, so only then did he realize she was shaking ever so slightly.

The realization sidetracked him from what he'd been about to say. "You're shivering! Are you cold, scared? What is it? What's wrong?"

She blinked several times in rapid succession as she held his gaze. How, after _this_, could he still be so worried about _her_? "What's wrong?" she echoed, her voice hollow.

Sniffling, she shook her head, her wild hair tumbling about her shoulders with the movement. "What's wrong? Are you joking?"

His eyebrows pulled up over the wire rims of his glasses. "Hermione, I don't—" He cut himself off as she pulled her hand from beneath his and shot to her feet.

"What's wrong is that my best friend is going to end up possessed by some ancient being, and there doesn't seem to be anything we can do to stop it!"

As the last word of her whispered outburst fell from her lips, she felt Set's smug laughter ripple through her. Her shoulders slumped and a bleak hopelessness filled her eyes.

She turned away from him and started for the portrait panel, her movements sluggish and mechanical.

Harry blinked, shaking his head. "Hermione where are you going?"

For only the briefest second, she froze, but didn't turn to look at him. She didn't even turn her head in his direction—she was far too disappointed at herself, and didn't think she could take seeing his face right now. "I just need to go for a walk."

Harry stood, but was reluctant to step toward her, somehow afraid she'd bolt without another word. "It's the middle of the night, Hermione."

She tipped her head back a bit, rolling her eyes at the high ceiling. "Sure, 'cause you've never wandered about the castle in the wee hours before."

When he didn't answer, she could tell he was searching for some argument to keep her there. Normally, she'd do him the courtesy off allowing him to try, but at this very moment, she simply _couldn't_ stay here.

"Please, I'll be okay. I'm probably the person in the least danger, right now, Harry."

Finally, Harry recalled what he'd been about to say a few minutes ago, but by the time he opened his mouth to speak, she was out the door.

He fell back into the cushioned seat and stared daggers at the fireplace. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't her fault. To explain that when he'd said he knew why this had happened, he meant Set must've somehow, some way, known what he and Draco were up to and acted right then, intentionally.

What troubled Harry now was that if _that_ was true—that somehow Set was aware of his meeting with Malfoy in the library—then how had he done it?

He took off his glasses and turned them in his hand, squinting at his reflection in the lenses. Did his newly blue eyes mean the worst possible conclusion he could think of?

Was Set's spirit lurking within him, already?

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><p>"Oy," Draco said in a sleepy, irritated tone, his voice muffled by the pillow he'd pulled over his face to block out the light. "Will you knock it off and go to sleep, already?"<p>

Blaise didn't even look up from his pacing. He only shook his head, his ebony eyes narrowed in thought.

After a few moments of silence—punctuated by his roommates footfalls—Draco grumblingly tossed his pillow aside and sat up. "What the bloody hell is going on with you?" Honestly, as though he didn't have enough on his mind with this entire Granger-Potter-Set issue?

Blaise's brow furrowed as he at last stopped and pivoted on a heel to face Draco. "I think . . . ." His broad shoulders drooped as he tried again. "I think Pansy's gone mad."

Draco rolled his eyes, making a little sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "I could've told you that, mate. Girl's been a little bit not right since long before we met her."

"'S not what I meant," Blaise said, his expression pinching.

Draco's face chilled in response. Was Blaise actually getting defense about _Pansy_? Oh, that _was_ madness! If _anyone _should be getting irritated or defensive, it should be him, he realized. _His_ best friend was shagging _his _ex-girlfriend, and now getting upset over an insult to her.

Of course, that would require for him to actually care, or mind—neither of which really applied—so he shrugged and let that icy indifference drift away with another tired eye roll. "Okay, fine. What is it? _Why_ do you think she's gone mad?"

Glancing about the room, as though he somehow expected he'd be overheard, he walked to his bed and sat on the very edge, facing Draco. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands before him, his long, dark fingers fidgeting.

Draco barely withheld himself from recoiling. There was a good two meters between them, but the nervous gesture was simply not Blaise—and it was so _very_ not Blaise that it made Draco instinctively think to pull away. Perhaps it was the last few strange days that had a bit of odd behavior from a trusted source making him feel the need to duck for cover.

"I don't know who the others are, but she'd mixed up in this whole pranking business. Did—did you know that?"

After a moment of thought, Draco shook his head. Yes, Granger had told him some of the other girls in their year were involved, but she'd not named names. He didn't know if he found it bizarre or strangely endearing that even under their current circumstances, Granger acted to protect others—even when one of those _others_ was Pansy.

"She's playing pranks—along with other people, mind you—and somehow you think this means she's lost her mind?"

One corner of Blaise's mouth twitched as he grasped how much of a leap that seemed out of context. Nodding, he said, "Yes, because it's not just that. It's . . . I don't know, something about how she seemed about it."

"What d'you mean?"

Blaise shrugged, sighing as he thought of how to explain. "We all know Pansy's got a bit of a malicious streak."

Draco snorted a laugh. "Understatement."

"Right? Anyway, no, this was . . . different than that. It didn't just feel like she was being malicious." He shook his head, his expression pinching once more, though this time in a clear reluctance to state his thoughts. "She was enjoying the chaos. But not like usual, it was so much that . . . it almost seemed like she was getting off on it."

The words that fell from Blaise's lips had ceased to make sense. Without realizing, Draco sat up perfectly straight in a sudden motion that had Blaise recoiling, now.

Blaise felt the strange inclination to hold his breath as he waited for Draco to say or do _something_. Tension, yes, but not just here and now, no. This unusual sense that everything was on string pulled too taut—about to snap at any moment—seemed to run throughout the castle. What the bloody hell was happening to everyone?

"What did you say?"

Jet brows creeping up his forehead, Blaise thought back. "She's getting off on it?"

Draco waved a dismissive hand. "Before that," he said as he shook his head.

"She's enjoying the chaos?"

Nodding, Draco threw back his covers and climbed out of bed. He was rather certain his heart had stopped and then restarted sharper than before, because as he shoved his feet into his slippers and grabbed his wand while he turned toward the door, he could swear he felt it slamming against his rib cage. All the pranks, the ensuing chaos, and Set lurking behind the scenes . . . . How had they not realized what was happening?

"Where are you going?"

As Draco reached for the knob, he realized he had no explanation. It wasn't merely that Set was feeding off the chaos, no, Granger had told them as much. He understood suddenly that the entity might, in fact, gain even more from the way the girls were reveling in their _harmless _tricks—that Set might somehow be stoking a desire within them to continue creating mischief and mayhem to satiate him. Could he even tell Granger and Potter about the connection without further endangering all three of them?

He threw out the first almost-true thing he could think of that was not likely be repeated. "To see Granger."

Blaise thought he might be going a bit mad, himself, as he echoed the name.

"Yes. I was supposed to meet her and forgot. I just remembered now. Sorry it seemed sudden like that."

His gaze leaping about the room, Blaise said, "So that night when she kissed you during dinner . . . ?"

Oh, well, sure, _now_ he had no choice but to flat-out lie. "Look, she and I have a . . . thing going, and she was trying to get me to admit it in front of everyone." Okay, so that was closer to the truth than he'd thought it would be. "You've been asleep the last few nights I've snuck out to meet her."

Draco almost breathed a sigh of relief at the blatant lie of that last sentence.

Blaise nodded numbly, his face frozen in an expression that was a strange combination of understanding and shock. "So . . . I'm to keep that to myself, am I?"

Affecting his best lethal scowl, Draco turned his head to look at Blaise over his shoulder.

Jumping a little, Blaise forced a gulp. "Right," he said, nodding again. "To myself, then."

Nodding in response, Draco at last stepped from the room and into the corridor.

He honestly had no idea what to do now, but he supposed he_ should_ try to reach Granger and Potter. Maybe he could hint this troubling notion to them? Say only the smallest, key things to get them to understand the same thing he had without any of them having to say anything openly?

But then, would it even matter what they said aloud? Set definitely seemed to have them backed into a corner.

The dungeon as unnervingly quiet as he wound through the empty common room and made him way out of Slytherin's domain. He knew it had to be his imagination. Every few steps, the sound of footfalls echoed behind him.

He shook his head and forced his legs to move faster. Simply . . . echoes of his own steps, that's _all_ that could be. He ignored that he felt an icy certainty twisting in the pit of his stomach that if he looked over his shoulder, he'd see a pair of strange blue eyes peering at him from the depths of the shadows.

Draco all but threw himself out into the main corridor, only to collide with someone.

Hermione stumbled backward, ready to loose an angry, though whispered, string of barbed words. Yet, seeing that it was Draco who'd crashed into her had a strangely calming effect.

He caught her by her shoulders and steadied her, setting her on her feet. His fingers lingered on her upper arms as he felt himself strangely reluctant to relinquish his hold on her.

Those huge chestnut eyes blinked up at him in the moonlight-dabbled darkness. "Draco, thank God. I thought I was about to get caught out after hours."

"I was . . . ." He shook his head at the bizarre coincidence of them both wandering the corridors at this hour. "I was actually coming to find you."

She frowned, standing on her toes to peer into his face. He appeared paler than usual, now that she was really looking at him. "What is it? Has something happened?"

He opened his mouth, but shut it just as quickly, understanding full well how she would take this news since the pranks were her doing, intention notwithstanding. "Perhaps we should sit down."

Hermione's eyebrows drew together, but she allowed him to guide her to take a seat on the bottom step of a nearby staircase, under one of the castle's enormous windows. She stared up at him as he lowered himself in front of her, bracing herself for whatever he was about to say.

Sighing heavily, Draco launched immediately into the realization he'd had during his chat with Blaise. He also—so his story as to why they should be meeting at odd hours would not be shot down by accidented—included a quick explanation of the partial fib he'd told his best friend.

By the time he finished everything, Granger's face had fallen completely. She looked like she was waiting for the world to come crashing down around her. It oddly stung when he considered that she must be upset with him for embellishing the state of their . . . relationship, if what was between them could even be called that.

Hermione's shoulders drooped and her heart plummeted as she turned his words over in her head. Of course he was right, it made sense. That was the only way for an entity trapped for so long to have amassed strength so quickly—if he was feeding from not only the chaos, but from the multi-layered aspects surrounding it, as well. The mischief at the heart of it, along with the joy of the culprit, and the displeasure, or even misery, of any affected parties must all combine to make a rather satisfying meal for Set.

She'd done a truly terrible thing when she'd lied to the girls that day they'd confronted her. And to think, she'd only been trying to by herself some time . . . . She'd had no idea—Oh, God, when had she become so thoughtlessly selfish?

Draco forced a gulp at the way her eyes glimmered. "Oh, no! Are you . . . ?" He sighed and shook his head. "Dammit, Granger, why are you crying?"

"Because this is _all_ my fault." She shook her head, wiping at her cheeks before the tears had a chance to fall. "I wasn't thinking about what might happen."

His brows shot up into his pale hair. "Probably because you had no idea _this_ was going to happen? No one could have guessed. You can't waste time beating yourself up about something you couldn't have known."

Hermione blinked slowly as she processed his statements. Draco Malfoy was trying to calm her. _Malfoy_, of all people in the whole of Wizarding Britain, was trying to get her to see reason and perspective.

"Don't think too much of this," she whispered, and then shot forward suddenly.

Before Draco even realized what was happening, Hermione was hugging him. Sighing heavily—and wondering how he'd gotten here—he simply let his arms fall around her.

The moment was strangely peaceful and blissfully tension-free. Until Granger shifted against him, lifting her head. He thought perhaps she had moved to look up at him, but her intent was suddenly unimportant as he felt her warm breath tickle deliciously over the side of his throat. Draco pulled back only enough to look into her face, holding her gaze for another silent handful of seconds.

He ducked his head toward hers slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wished, and traced her lips with the tip of his tongue.


	9. A Night's Indulgence

**I will repeat this on updates to all my fics (my regular readers will get sick of it XD)****: I have created FB & Twitter accounts for my Freya Ishtar stuff. I will post (& tweet) about new fics, continuing fics, sneak-peeks of upcoming stories & any news about unreasonably-long delays in updates. You can view story arts I've created for others (with accompanying links to those writers' works), and, if you like what you see, make cover & banner requests there. Or you can just pop in & say, "Hi," open discussions about things in my stories, or general fandom/ship stuff. Whatever you like :D.**

**The links for both are posted to my FFN site profile (since those are the only external links FFN allows, now). A Pinterest link will soon follow, once I have some boards worth looking at.**

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><p><strong>Fic Specific Note<strong>**: The pronunciation of Horus, is more accurately "Ho-roos" (with a quick roll of the r, like it's a soft d), not "Horace."**

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

A Night's Indulgence

Harry stirred, shifting on what suddenly seemed an unfamiliar surface beneath him. He decided he must be dreaming . . . . He was relatively certain he recalled falling asleep on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room after Hermione had stormed out. He hadn't meant to drift off. No, no . . . . His intentions were so fuzzy and unclear now, but he was sure he'd_ intended_ to follow after her, despite her protest.

Yet, somehow, here he still was. Vague recollections chased through his mind of standing up from where he sat, only to spill backward again and almost instantly drift off.

But the worn velvet cushions felt different just now. Not the same as he'd become so accustomed to over these last seven years. Pulling himself to sit up, he opened his eyes after a few long, useless blinks.

Swallowing a gasp, he looked around, alarmed to find himself no longer in Gryffindor tower. No, no. This looked like . . . . His gaze touched on gold statues, exotic animal-pelt throws along the floor, a gilt-framed mirror across from him. This didn't _look _like it, this _was_ the room Hermione had described to him and Draco from her dreams.

The dreams where Set was constantly—embarrassingly, for her—trying to seduce her.

Forcing a gulp down his throat, he looked around. That couldn't be what Set had planned for _him_! How had he even gotten here?

He pushed up to stand, grateful for the ability to move on his own after Hermione's accounts of being paralyzed. "Okay," he said in a whisper as he walked in a slow circle, taking stock of his surroundings, once more. "You can move, and Set is not here. This isn't the same place. You . . . you just dreamed it up based on Hermione's description. You're worried about her, and nervous about the blue-eyes thing, that's all this is."

Meeting his reflection's gaze in the mirror as he stopped in front of it, he nodded firmly. "That's it, Harry, that's all this is. You just need to wake up."

"Oh, you pretty thing." The deep, rich voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once made Harry jump and he spun around.

There, seated on the ornate chaise—where _no one had_ been a moment earlier—was a tall, dark-haired stranger. The odd, pale-blue of his eyes stood out against his bronze skin and Harry winced at the unbidden acknowledgement that Hermione was right—Set _was _beautiful.

_What! Where the bloody hell did _that_ come from? _Harry shook his head, forcing away that disturbing awareness. He wasn't into guys, and even _if_ he were, a possibly psychotic, ancient chaos god who had plans on possessing him shouldn't be anywhere _near _the list of guys he might be into!

A smirk curving his full lips, Set stood. "You . . . ." He let his gaze flick over Harry from head to foot, and back as he strolled across the chamber to stand before the wizard. "You will not wake until _I_ allow it."

Harry wasn't sure exactly what was happening, anymore. His back pinned to the mirror behind him, he could only watch as Set's face lowered toward his; could only feel his eyes drift closed as Set's warm breath touched his lips.

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><p>Draco lifted his mouth from Hermione's throat as he felt her fingers tugging at the buttons of his nightshirt. Catching her wrists in his hands, he held her arms away from him.<p>

Hermione opened hazy chestnut eyes, meeting his gaze. "What is it? Is . . . is it where we are? Is it me? Did I do something wrong?"

His eyebrows drew together as he watched her expression in the dabbled moonlight. Location be damned, the staircase on which he sat with her rather pleasantly straddling his lap didn't bother him. Nor had there been time for her to have done anything wrong, but he grew leery of her moments of forwardness for one, rather irksome, reason . . . .

"I just want to be sure you're trying to get me out of my nightclothes because it's what_ you _want."

She understood his caution all too easily. Not that she wanted to think about Set at this particular moment, but they likely wouldn't be together like this if not for Set's interference in their lives.

Funny how that thought—the thought that she might still despise Draco at this moment, as she had all along, if not for that kiss only a few days ago—bothered her. She wanted him, did there really have to be more to it than that?

There was a bloom of warmth in the center of her chest as she wondered if, perhaps, _he _wanted there to be more to it than that.

Hermione bit her lip and nodded, holding his gaze. "It's only me, Draco."

"And you're_ sure _you want to do this?"

Again, she nodded. "Things are so complicated and confused right now, aren't they? But this? I don't . . . ." She licked her lips and shook her head before trying again. "I don't know how, but as confused as I _thought_ I would be about you, it's actually very simple when we're alone, isn't it?"

He couldn't help a smirk. To think, he used to _so_ hate moments when he realized Hermione Granger was right about anything. Besides, hadn't he been the one demanding that she accept how she felt and stop shying away from what she wanted?

Draco arched a brow as he asked, "You mean with you and me wanting nothing more than to get under each other's clothes?"

"That," she whispered, slipping her wrists from his grasp and returning to unbuttoning his shirt. "Let's just let things be simple, for right now," she said, drifting so close that her mouth brushed his as she spoke.

Nodding, he leaned up to meet her, his tongue thrusting between her lips as he slid his hands into shirt her to cup her bare breasts.

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><p>Harry wasn't entirely sure how his shirt had gone missing, but it was suddenly on the floor beside his feet as Set's body pressed him to the cool surface of the mirror behind him. Those full lips trailed down the side of his throat and over his collar bone and Harry couldn't find it in himself to lift his hands and push Set away.<p>

Whether his useless limbs were his own doing, or Set's he wasn't certain, but he knew he probably didn't _really_ want to find out. Just in case.

Set lowered himself slowly, the skin of his bare chest sliding against Harry's as he moved. The tips of his fingers traced down Harry's sides, and along the waist of what he still wore of his nightclothes.

Harry's head fell back against the glass as Set swirled his tongue around one nipple. "I . . . I think I should tell you that this . . . isn't going to work," he said, hating that his voice was husky and stammering to his own ears as he once more dropped his gaze to look down at the dark-haired man with the beautiful face. "I have_ no_ interest in men."

Smirking, Set reached into Harry's clothes, grasping him. He lifted his head to meet Harry's eyes. "Well, then your mind and your body seem to be in a _bit_ of disagreement."

Harry could only watch, both fascinated and horrified as Set finally sank to his knees and pulled him free of his nightclothes. He was ashamed that he was hard . . . even more so that he enjoyed the first touch of Set's lips closing around the head of his cock.

Ashamed of the way his breath hitched as Set's tongue swept along the delicate skin underneath.

Finally, Harry was able to move. Yet he only found himself lifting his hands to cup the back of Set's head.

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><p>She whipped her shirt up, over her head and dropped it beside them. Draco's jaw dropped as he stared at her for a long moment, his own shirt hanging open, but still <em>on<em> him, at least.

"Just lifting it out of the way would have worked, too," he said, laughing.

She uttered a soft giggle of her own, surprised at how very much she was enjoying this little unexpected moment of freedom. "Oh, shut up, Draco," she murmured, arching her back in what she hoped was a sexier move than it felt like.

Grey eyes rolled in feigned exasperation. "Fine, have it your way." He hid a grin as he lowered his head, taking one of nipples into his mouth.

The concern of whether they would be caught out here in the open—which would have once been so clear and important to her—was a distant cry in the back of Hermione's mind. Now, she was only focused on Draco's hands, splayed against the small of her back, and his mouth sucking and nibbling at her breasts as she curled her fingers into his hair.

She raked her nails against his scalp, every now and again slipping her hands into the back of his shirt to trail over his bare skin.

His hands slid down, grasping her hips and guiding her into motion over him.

She bit her lip to keep from moaning. She could feel him through their clothes; the way he was making her rub against his hardened length sent sweet, tingling shivers of warmth through her.

He grinned at the little keening whimper that sounded in the back of her throat. Merlin, if only they were someplace less destined for getting caught . . . .

And if these pesky clothes weren't between them. But she seemed to be enjoying herself well enough, even with the fabric keeping them from each other. He pulled back, watching her face in the half-darkness as she rocked against him.

She shuddered and trembled, her teeth sinking enticingly into her bottom lip as she ground herself against him. Those chestnut eyes opened, and she nearly stilled at the way he was looking at her.

That concern, again, over her lack of experience, stole through her. Yet, not enough to make her stop—this simply felt _too_ good. She wasn't going to stop unless he told her to.

"Wh—what is it?" she asked, her cheeks flushed over having to talk at a moment like this. "Am I . . . doing something wrong?"

His hands slid from her hips, curving around her to cup her bottom as she continued rocking over his hardened length. "Always with that question," he said, his voice so soft the words were nearly lost beneath the sound of their breath. "I'm not watching you because you're doing something wrong, Granger."

He forced her to grind harder against him, smiling as she trembled again, a moan escaping her.

"I'm watching you because I like the face you make when you're doing _everything_ right."

Hermione tried for an answering grin, but couldn't manage. Her muscles were starting to go taut, and she could feel that delicious, tingling warmth edge closer.

Draco held her gaze, still, nodding and taking charge, moving beneath her orgasm caused her to still over him. He repeated what he'd said to her the other day under the stairwell. "It's okay, Granger. I've got you."

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><p>Harry caught his breath, his body all but collapsing against the mirror as his cock slipped free from between Set's lips. That had been absolutely—<em>Horrible, it was horrible! <em>Harry was screaming inwardly, because on the outside, he couldn't seem to get his voice to work.

He was deliberately ignoring the idea that perhaps he couldn't speak the words he was thinking, because he didn't truly think it _had_ been horrible.

Opening his eyes, he gave a start. Set wasn't kneeling in front of him. In fact—he lifted his gaze to take in the chamber around him—the chaos god was nowhere to be seen.

Harry's shoulders slumped and he sank back against the cool glass behind him. At least the bastard had bothered to right his nightclothes before vanishing.

"Wait a minute . . . ." Again he searched the room with his gaze, only this time he noticed . . . .

Everything looked off. _Backward_, somehow. A chill rippled through the pit of his stomach as he spun to face the mirror.

Set stood on the other side, watching—clearly waiting for Harry to notice.

Harry pounded his fists against the glass, screaming to be let out. But he knew Set couldn't hear him—even if he did, the god's only answer was a charming grin and a wink.

Harry could do nothing but watch as the chamber on the other side of the glass dissolved and the Gryffindor common room swam into near-focus before him. Everything was blurry, nearly as though he didn't have his glasses on.

He could feel himself stand, but he knew he was not the one who issued the command to his body.

Set shook his head, pulling off the wizard's spectacles and dropping them to the end table beside the sofa. Blinking, he looked around the room.

"Better," he said in a satisfied whisper. "You really do have terrible vision. Well, now, let's go find our servants."

Harry watched with a dull dread winding through him as the portrait entrance drew closer, and he exited Gryffindor tower. All while he screamed and fought behind the glass.

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><p>She slumped against Draco as she caught her breath. He chuckled, but before she could let him find too much humor in the moment, she forced herself to scoot back and slipped a hand into his nightclothes.<p>

Draco's eyebrows shot up as he felt her fingers wrap around him. Not that he was of a mind to complain, but he thought this might be too far for her so soon. "Granger, are you sure you want to do that?"

"Well," she said, huffing an impatient breath as she met his gaze. "You've already gotten me twice. That's hardly fair, now is it?"

He opened his mouth to agree with her, but she cut him off with the most delightfully bizarre observation as her fingers stroked over him, tentative and curious. "I don't think I expected it to be this big."

A quiet laugh rumbled out of him. "Careful, Granger. Flattery will get you everywhere."

"What have we here?"

Harry's voice drifted down the staircase and Hermione jumped, pulling her hand from Draco. She snatched up her shirt, holding it against herself as she got to her feet, despite her knees wobbling a little under her weight.

"Harry, I didn't expect . . . ."

The expression of shock that turned to horror alarmed Draco and he shot up, spinning on his heel to block her. He looked up the stair case, but all he saw was Potter walking toward them.

"Granger, what's that look?" he asked over his shoulder in a whisper. "It's just—"

"No," she said, her voice lower that even his own hushed tone as she pressed her hands against his back in some small measure of self-comfort. "That's not Harry. Harry can barely see _without _his glasses."

"Very good," Set murmured, nodding as he reached the last few steps before them. "Now." He met Hermione's gaze. "Nephthys . . . ." Looking to Draco, he said, "Horus. If you two have had enough fun for the moment?"

Hermione and Draco exchanged a glance. Draco was someone Set desired; considering his twisted relationship with Horus, she wondered if perhaps they should have expected Set to identify him this way.

"What is it you want from us?" she asked, meeting those disturbing blue eyes in her best friend's face as she pulled her shirt on.

Set smiled and stepped past them, proceeding toward the dungeons. "You will see. Come along, my beloveds."

Hermione swallowed hard, feeling her stomach knot. She laced her fingers through Draco's, relieved that he didn't pull away as they trailed reluctantly after Set.


End file.
